Consumed Memories
by Disneymagic
Summary: After a seemingly sucessful hunt, Dean begins acting strangly and it gets progessively worse. Will Sam be able to solve the mystery and fix the problem in time to save him? hurt!Dean caring!Sam
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its wonderful characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke and the CW. I don't own anything and isn't that just pitiful.**

**A/N1: This story takes place during the first season, sometime after Nightmare but before The Benders.**

**A/N2: Mention of time spent in the Outer Banks is a reference to PADavis's awesome story OBX. If you haven't already, you should read it! Her story occurs during the third season, so it hasn't taken place as of the time of this story, however, her story mentions John and Dean's time investigating Kill Devil Hills pre season one.**

**Consumed Memories**

**by Disneymagic**

**Chapter 1 Go Dean**

If he was honest with himself, Dean didn't actually remember being attacked by the Stalker. He was nothing if not confident in his abilities and he hadn't even seen the damn thing, which was just fucking weird. _Hello, invisible could have something to do with it._ He'd been about one third of the way down the hall, a turn coming up just ahead of him, alert and in full-on hunter mode, moving cautiously with his back up against the wall, just like he always did when forced to hunt solo. He'd gotten good at it during the times he and his Dad had split up to go on separate hunts after Sam left for college and it came in handy now when Sam was getting the Stalker's latest victim to safety. He was the fucking poster child for 'stealth and lethal grace' with both hands gripping his pistol, closing the door to each office once he had cleared it, and moving on to the next office keeping only closed doors and cleared spaces behind him as he went.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor, looking up into his baby brother's concerned face. _Yay, go Dean!_ So yeah, he was confused and a little bit embarrassed, but also genuinely proud when he learned that Sam took out the Stalker single handed. His little brother totally kicked ass. And he was still just trying to figure out how it happened while answering Sam's questions when Sam pointed out that he was still lying on the ground, having made no attempt whatsoever to regain his feet. It had nothing to do with the lethargy that was creeping over him or the fact that he felt a tiny bit dizzy. Really.

Sam seemed reassured at Dean's embarrassed chuckle as he levered his long body back up and reached a hand down to pull Dean into an upright position.

"Thanks, Sammy. You really came through." Dean watched Sam through lowered lashes, trying to judge how upset his brother was that he hadn't waited for Sam to get back before going after the Stalker as he'd said he would. But Sam was riding the high of a successful kill.

"Hey, no problem, it's not like you haven't done the same thing for me about a million times." Sam was excited and obviously happy. The hunt had gone well, no one had gotten hurt including the man they had rescued from the Stalker moments ago, fugly's done for, and it had even dissipated leaving no clean up for a change. It was like the Winchester version of paradise on earth. No reason to spoil the mood by mentioning that now, once he was standing, Dean wasn't so sure about his ability to walk in a straight line unassisted. Nothing to worry about, he probably just needed a good meal and some down time.

"How about we hit that Irish pub we saw over on Granby Street, grab some dinner and a few beers before we head back to the motel? I bet they have pie there. I love me some pie!" Dean could always get enthusiastic about food.

"Sounds like a plan." Sam complied easily as he made one more sweep of the office and bent down to retrieve the bullet casings and erase any other signs of their presence.

Dean carefully waited until Sam led the way out of the room and followed after him where Sam couldn't see his hand trailing along the hallway wall, keeping him from weaving around too much. Once they reached the stairwell it was even easier to hide the signs of his dizziness as he held on to the railing the entire way down to the 1st floor. The activity seemed to revive him and by the time they walked out of the office building into the fresh air, Dean was steady enough to make it to the Impala without drawing Sam's unwanted attention.

It was just a couple of blocks ride to Sullivan's Pub and the streets of downtown Norfolk were relatively deserted at 9:30PM. The pub was doing a steady trade though, so the young men found themselves a booth in a secluded corner where they could blend in unobserved. When the waitress came to take their order, Dean flashed his most charming smile accompanied by a cocky wink and asked for a serving of shepherd's pie and whatever beer was on tap.

"Sam, its dinner and its pie!" Dean chortled.

"Yeah, that's great. I'm really happy for you." Sam deadpanned, although he couldn't completly hid the upward twitch of his lips.

Sam ordered Brunswick stew and some imported Irish beer that Dean had never heard of.

While they ate they discussed the hunt quietly. The pub was busy enough and loud enough to keep individual conversations from being overheard by the surrounding tables. Their conversation morphed to encompass the sights they had taken in during the last couple of days. They laughed about the painted mermaids the city seemed obsessed with. The easy camaraderie felt good, really good. It was partly the afterglow of a successful hunt, knowing that the fugly would no longer be hurting innocent people, but it was more than just that. They had always been close as brothers, closer than most due to the circumstances of their childhoods. They were never more at ease than when they were with each other. God help him, but Dean just felt more like himself when Sam was there.

Dinner and a few beers behind them and Dean began to feel the exhaustion from earlier in the evening make a reappearance. Unfortunately the warm, stuffy bar and the heavy beer that had been on tap were not helping the situation and Dean felt his eyelids begin to get heavy. Suddenly he jerked slightly and looked up to see Sam watching him with an amused expression on his goofy face. OK, awkward much?

"You gettin' your jollies over there?" Dean asked, voice rough with exhaustion.

"Yup, it's a real treat watching you fall asleep. I was just waiting to see if your head would actually hit the table this time."

"That's nice."

"Yeah, well. You ready to get out of here? Pass me the keys, I'm driving."

Dean didn't put up a fight, just reached into his pocket and handed over his baby's keys. There was no way he would be able to win that argument, not after getting caught dozing. The idea of relaxing in the passenger seat and letting his brother get them back to the motel was sounding pretty good anyway.

The purr of the engine, the vibration of the road under the tires, and Dean was almost completely asleep, slumped over against the passenger door with his head resting lightly on the cool window, soon after getting into the car. Sam parked right in front of their room and made a ton of noise getting out of the car. _Huh, is that Sam's way of letting me save a little face by waking me up without letting on?_ If so, it was appreciated, big brother image had already taken enough of a beating today.

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By the time they made it back to the motel, Sam had gone from being tolerantly amused by his big brother's unwitting attempt to fall asleep with his face in his beer mug to being slightly anxious. Dean was normally energy personified, lightning in a bottle would be a good description. He was constantly in motion, pacing, tapping, or working, but always doing something. Even when he was just watching TV his leg would be bouncing or his fingers drumming. The only time Sam ever saw Dean just flake out in the car was when he was hurt or they had gone several nights without sleep as sometimes happened in the middle of a difficult hunt. This hunt hadn't been difficult, they had both gotten a good night's sleep last night and Dean wasn't hurt, was he? Now Sam was beginning to wonder. After all, when he'd found Dean the Stalker was standing over him and Dean had been limp, completely out of it. Once the Stalker was taken care of, Dean had bounced right back though, OK, maybe not so much bounced, but he had appeared to recover by the time they got out of the building.

As he made a loud production out of getting his laptop and jacket from the back seat, he watched Dean out of the corner of his eye. _What did they know about Stalkers?_ He remembered doing the research. There hadn't been a lot of information available. There weren't many survivors of Stalker attacks. In fact, the one man they had saved earlier this evening was only one of two known people who had walked away from an attack by a Stalker and Dean made three. Both of the other survivors suffered memory loss, but so far as Sam had been able to ascertain, Dean's memory was completely intact. Probably because the Stalker was dead and any memories it might have stolen from Dean's head had been released, at least that's what his research told him would happen. Sam began to run through the events of the last several days since the beginning of the hunt, searching for clues to Dean's unusual behavior.

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**Two days previously.**

Sam was perusing the internet from their motel room in Cosby, Tennessee, looking for unexplained occurrences, when he came across a recent article that sounded like it was right up their alley.

"Listen to this. Police Stumped by Second Mysterious Office Building Death." He read the headline out loud for Dean's benefit.

"Police stumped." Dean scoffed. "It doesn't take much to do that, but what else does it say?"

"Seems that both office workers died in the evening and their bodies were found by other office workers after the building had been locked up for the night in one case and the next morning in the other case. The deaths occurred five days apart. The second one was just found yesterday. ME can't find any cause of death, no trauma, no heart failure, it looks as though they just stopped breathing."

"What about a gas leak? Couldn't that account for the deaths?"

"The police already ruled that out. Great minds think alike." Sam teased.

Frowning at the comparison, Dean made a 'continue' motion with one hand.

"Ummm, both victims were known work-a-holics, one male one female. They worked in the same office building, but on different floors and for different companies. The police haven't found anything to connect the victims."

"OK, I'll bite, where is all this going down?"

"Norfolk, Virginia. I've never heard of it, you and Dad ever go there?" Sam looked up expectantly.

"Sounds kinda familiar. Pull up a map and let's take a look." Dean indicated the laptop with a quick jab of his finger.

"Here it is, over on the southeastern coast of Virginia. Ummmm, Dean…" Sam's voice trailed off.

"What's the matter?"

"Look at the name of this area just to the south of Norfolk in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. It's called Kill Devil Hills. You think there could be anything to that?"

"Nah, Sammy. Dad and I already spent quite a bit of time checking it out while you were, you know, at Stanford." Dean looked away and the muscles in his jaw worked silently. He cleared his throat self consciously. "Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. It turned out to be nothing."

"So, Norfolk then. We can probably get there by tomorrow late afternoon if we leave first thing in the morning." Sam came to the rescue, moving the topic back to the hunt and away from the difficult time when Dean had been left with only their Dad for back up.

Next morning, Sam woke up to the sound of humming coming from the bathroom. He stretched and scratched absently at his bare chest while contemplating the long day of driving they had ahead of them.

Just then Dean's head poked around the doorframe as if his 'little brother radar' had gone off and he didn't want to miss an opportunity to get a jab in. "Morning Princess, nice of you to join us in the land of the living."

"Whatever, you could've woken me up earlier if you were in a hurry." Sam wasn't in the mood for banter first thing in the morning even though he'd come to expect it.

"Nah, no hurry, but I did want to stop at that bakery down the street to grab breakfast while the donuts are still fresh. They'll have those muffins and croissants you go for too, Geekboy." Dean's eyes sparkled with mirth and Sam threw a sock in his general direction.

Sam dressed in his most comfortable pair of jeans, a faded green t-shirt, and a warm hoodie in preparation for a day spent in the car. He took his turn in the bathroom and then made a thorough check under beds and in drawers to make sure everything had been packed up. With their limited belongings they couldn't afford to leave anything behind. Dean had gone to check them out of the motel and turn in the keys, so Sam took the bags out to the car. It was a familiar routine. As he waited for Dean to get back to the car, Sam stood looking out on the lush green Tennessee landscape. It had rained most of the time they'd been here, but this morning the sun was shining and it lit up the peaks of the surrounding hills. There was a thick layer of fog in the valleys, but it would soon be burned away as the sun got higher in the sky.

He would be glad leave this place behind, as beautiful as it was. Too many bad memories from the hunt they'd just completed flashed through his mind when he looked at the heavily wooded hills. _Fucking hillbilly moonshiners_. He was still moving gingerly even though they had stayed a couple of extra days to give him a chance to recuperate.

"Whatcha lookin at?" Dean wanted to know as he arrived back at the car.

"Just admiring the view." Sam turned and moved back toward the passenger door.

"Well, if you're done admiring we should get a move on. Sooner we get started, the sooner we'll get there."

"Gee, Dean, really? Cause I woulda never thought of that."

Dean just cracked a grin and said, "Yeah, I could really use some coffee too. Let's get over to that bakery before they sell out of everything."

The bakery was obviously a locals' hang out. The proprietor knew all his customers by name and the atmosphere was friendly. It was just the kind of place where Sam felt at home. He would have liked to stay while they ate breakfast, but Dean placed their order to go. Sam just sighed, he recognized Dean's mood immediately. It was his 'nothing stands in the way of a new hunt' mood. Predictably, Dean didn't want to slow down until they reached their destination and could begin planning their steps to find out what was killing people in Norfolk.

After nine hours in the car with stops only to eat lunch and fuel up the Impala, they arrived. The city was an interesting mix of urban and residential areas with a strong military presence evident from the Naval Shipyard. They found a cheap motel that catered to young military families.

"What did you find out about the two people who died so far?" Dean asked once they had settled into their room and Sam had opened his laptop to begin his search for information relevant to the case.

"I have names and addresses for next of kin. The first victim was Scott Old, age 54. He was an attorney and his body was found by a paralegal in his office on the 10th floor the following morning. The second victim was Ellen Salter, age 43. She worked for an accounting firm on the 4th floor. Coworkers found her body near the elevator as they were leaving the office late at night. We could start off by interviewing family members. I also have the address for the office building where they were killed. There won't be many people there now since it's after five o'clock, but we could still go check it out. What do you think?"

Dean thought about the choices and came to a decision. "We should start by interviewing the family members today and then head over to the office building, see what security is like in the evening."

Sam nodded slowly. Interviews with people who had recently lost loved ones were difficult. Remembering the days immediately following Jess's death, he sat heavily on the edge of the bed. He hadn't wanted to talk to anyone and luckily, Dean had been there to do most of his talking for him.

Shaking his head to clear the unwelcome memories, Sam asked, "Who do you think they'll be willing to talk to?"

"We could do the priest thing, like at the Miller's." Dean suggested.

"Hmmm, but we don't even know if these people are religious. Besides, I don't ever feel real good about impersonating a priest. Makes me feel like a creep."

"OK, how about the CDC. The deaths don't seem violent, so a logical possibility might be some sort of disease or contaminant that got into the office building. Of course, you and I know there are a lot of other not-so-logical possibilities." Dean shrugged.

"That might work."

They dressed in their all-purpose suits. Since they each only had one, the same suit had to suffice whether they were pretending to be law enforcement, going to a funeral, or hanging out in an office building trying not to stand out like a sore thumb. Dean's distress was evident the moment he realized that this job was likely to require much more disguise time than the average job. Dean hated wearing his suit because it hindered his movements and made it more difficult for him to get to his ever present weapons, a knife strapped to his ankle and his pistol stashed in the waistband of his pants. Even a fraction of a second could mean the difference between saving a life and watching that life expire in front of his eyes bringing a sense of crushing failure.

"This sucks, Sam." Dean fidgeted with his tie before taking it off and throwing it on the bed.

The best way to handle this was to just wait it out. There was no way Dean would allow his own comfort to get in the way of saving other people. Sam didn't say a word, just continued to put on his shoes and adjust his tie. After a couple of minutes, Dean grunted and continued with his own preparations. A few minutes later they were headed out of the motel room in complete business suits with CDC badges stuffed in their pockets.

**A/N3: Please push the button and give me some feedback. I'm really curious to know what you think so far.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its wonderful characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke and the CW. I don't own anything and isn't that just pitiful.**

**A/N: Thank you to everyone taking the time to read this story and a special thank you to those reviewing. Your reviews make this all worth while.**

**Consumed Memories**

**by Disneymagic**

**Chapter 2 How to Manipulate Your Older Brother**

Ellen Salter's husband, Neal, opened the door to their knock. He looked at their badges with sorrow filled eyes, but invited them in with a slight nod when they explained that they were investigating the circumstances surrounding his wife's death.

Sam's throat clenched with compassion as he took in the man's broken appearance. Neal was obviously not coping well. He sported a three day's growth of facial hair and his clothes were wrinkled like they'd been slept in. The house was cluttered with children's toys strewn around the floor in the living room and dishes piled up in the sink. There were several casserole dishes on the counters and Sam recognized them as sympathetic offerings from friends and neighbors.

"You have kids?" Dean asked, indicating the toys.

"Yes, two boys, they're upstairs right now." Neal smiled and his expression softened.

"Mr. Salter, we're sorry to have to bother you at such a terrible time, but can you tell us anything that might help explain what happened to your wife?" Sam asked gently.

"It doesn't make any sense." Neal's voice came out as a strangled whisper. "Ellen had been working long hours, her job was stressful and she was tired, but other than that she was perfectly healthy."

"Was it common for her to stay at the office late?"

"She often told me she was one of the last people to leave in the evening. It made me nervous for her to be there alone at night, but she was never the kind of person to let things like that stand in her way. She was just finishing up a project and was looking forward to some down time. We were planning a family vacation to Florida." Neal looked away, but not before Sam saw the unshed tears glistening in his eyes.

"Did she mention seeing anything out of the ordinary? Can you remember her acting strangely?"

"No, nothing like that."

"OK, if you think of anything, anything at all, will you give us a call?" Sam handed Neal a piece of paper with his cell phone number on it.

"All right." Neal absently put the paper on a cluttered table where it would probably stay untouched.

As they were leaving, Sam looked up the stairwell and saw two boys sitting side by side on the top stair. They were close in age, maybe a couple of years apart. Sam guessed their ages to be 11 and 9. The younger boy had blond curly hair and the older boy had straight sandy brown hair. As he watched the older boy put an arm protectively around his brother's shoulders.

Sam left the house with a heavy heart. _Damn, that just never gets any easier. I'd rather face an angry wendigo than have to intrude on another family's grief._ He felt even worse knowing they hadn't gotten any information that would help them in solving the mystery of Ellen's death and keep it from happening to someone else.

Dean came alongside him and jostled his shoulder as they walked. "Hey, don't think about it so hard. We're going to figure it out."

Sam just nodded, not sure why, but finding consolation in the gesture and words.

Scott Old had been single, but his sister, Nancy, lived in the bordering city of Virginia Beach. Nancy was reluctant to let two strangers into her house, even after they flashed their CDC badges, but after peering hesitantly at Sam's empathetic, sincere expression, she relented and stood away from the door, indicating that they could come in.

Nancy'd had a few more days to deal with her loss, but she was obviously still struggling. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She answered all their questions with a tone of bewilderment. She couldn't think of anything that would explain what had happened to Scott. He often worked late, was driven to the point of obsession when he was working on a case. She had seen him on the weekend before his death and he had been fine. He hadn't mentioned seeing anything strange and he hadn't acted abnormally.

It was another dead end.

"So, all we know it that whatever this is strikes in the evening and its shy, only attacks people who are in the building alone." Sam summarized as they drove back to the downtown area. He was frustrated at the lack of progress and waste of time.

"Dude, you're slipping. We know a lot more that that."

"How do you figure?"

Dean raised his eyebrows and quirked a little half smile. "Sammy, I'm surprised at you. First of all, this thing thrives in an urban setting. How many creatures have we come across that pick off their victims from inside an office building? Second, it hides during the day when the building's crawling with people and no one even suspects it's there. That means it's intelligent. Third, when it strikes, it's completely deadly and leaves behind no trace. I'll be interested to talk to the coworkers tomorrow to see if they noticed anything unusual or if there was any sign of a struggle. I'm betting there wasn't 'cause I think whatever this is has some type of camouflage or is invisible. That certainly narrows down out list of possible suspects, doncha think?"

As he finished his assessment, Dean glanced over at Sam from the driver's side and arched one eyebrow, a completely smug look on his face.

"Not bad, Sherlock." Sam admitted grudgingly. "But how do you know it's a creature and not a spirit?"

"Don't know for sure, but spirits aren't generally this stealthy. There are usually sightings from people who live to tell the tale. We shouldn't rule out the possibility yet, but, my gut tells me we aren't dealing with a spirit this time."

Sam had learned long ago to respect Dean's hunches. He was rarely wrong about these types of things.

They pulled up to the office building half an hour later. It was twelve stories high and surrounded by other buildings on all sides, some of which were much taller. Many of the windows were dark, but even at this late hour, several windows were brightly lit, indicating that despite the recent deaths a few hardy souls continued to work well past normal business hours. The street lights all around the building were on and there were lights on the outside of the building illuminating the surrounding area. They wouldn't be able to sneak around undetected, so they walked purposefully up to the front door of the building as though they had every right to be there. It was locked and there were no doormen or security personnel in sight. Upon walking around the building, they discovered a back service door, also locked up tight.

"So, this creature must stay in the building all the time. It lives in there 'cause it can't sneak in after business hours." Sam conjectured.

"That's my guess, too, Sammy Boy."

The motel was a welcome sight after the day's activities. They hadn't done anything all that rigorous, but still, they had gotten a lot accomplished what with the drive, the interviews and the casing of the office building. Sam wanted to eat the sub and chips they had picked up for dinner, take a shower, and do a little more research before going to bed.

Dean changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt as soon as he got into the room, muttering something about not wanting to have to wear the damn suit any more than absolutely necessary. He then turned on the TV and sat with his back against the headboard of his bed and his sub and chips in his lap. Apparently, he didn't find anything worth watching because as soon as he was done eating he left the room and appeared a few minutes later with a canister of salt and his silver knife. Ever the protector, Dean salted the window and door and tested the knife's sharp edge before placing it under his pillow.

"What's the plan for tomorrow? Sam asked as he finished his own sub.

"We need to interview the office workers during the daytime and then we'll stake out the office building from the inside during the evening. It would be good if we had some idea of what we were up against before we spend the night in that building, that's where your geek skills come into play."

Sam rolled his eyes but then his expression became hopeful. "Interviewing the coworkers won't take very long and then we'll have some free time before have to go back to the building in the evening, right?"

"Yup, what do you have in mind? Don't tell me there's a museum or bookstore you want to scope out, please." Dean groaned.

"It wouldn't hurt you to spend a little time in a museum, but no, that's not what I had in mind."

"What then?"

"I saw some brochures in the lobby of the motel. There are harbor cruises that leave from the dock right downtown. The cruise only takes a couple of hours and the guide explains some of the naval history of the area. It would be something different. We haven't spent much time on a boat. But if you don't want to, I could go alone...or maybe we should just find something else to do…" Sam trailed off looking down at the floor.

Dean watched Sam with a bemused expression and the edges of his lips twitched up in a slim smile. "We should go on one of those cruises, sounds interesting."

"Great, I'll make reservations for tomorrow."

Sam kept his face carefully hidden until he reached the bathroom where he broke out in a huge dimpled grin as soon as his brother couldn't see. _I should definitely write a book on how to manipulate older brothers. Dean is just too easy sometimes. The best part is, this cruise is something he will so enjoy, but not anything he would have thought to do for himself._

Sam marveled, not for the first time, about the contradiction that was his brother. He had many layers and no one, not even Sam or Dad, had ever managed to peel away all of them. _Dad…Dad had the best chance of anyone, but he never paid attention to the emotional well-being of his kids._ Sam suspected that no one had ever managed to get to the core. The thing was that even when he managed to peel back several layers and catch a glimpse, Dean always managed to create new ones. It was a defense mechanism, Sam knew that, he'd been studying Dean his whole life. When he was young he had studied his older brother out of a sense of hero worship and a desire to be more like him. As he got older, he just wanted to know who his brother really was. The outer shell, the image he portrayed to the outside world, was tough, competent, cocky, and self-assured. And he was all those things, but on the inside he was also sentimental, caring, and self-deprecating. His penchant for throwing himself into the line of fire might seem reckless to an outsider, but Sam knew that Dean simply felt other people's suffering keenly and would rather suffer himself than see anyone else in pain, especially his family. In spite of the strict 'no chick-flick moments' rule, Sam had learned, after years of careful watching, that sometimes Dean craved comfort. He just rarely allowed himself to receive any.

After his shower, Sam came out of the bathroom dressed in sweatpants, his normal sleeping attire. He booted up his laptop and began researching the history of the building they would be spending the evening in tomorrow. Nothing popped out at him as being pertinent to the job, no one had died in the building before the two recent deaths, there were no articles describing unusual events occurring on the site, and there were no reported missing persons' cases involving the area. _Not a spirit then._

Just then Dean finished up his shower and got into his bed wearing only his boxers. "You ready to wrap it up? We need to get some sleep tonight just in case we end up in that building all night tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'm just finishing up. You were right, I couldn't find any evidence of spirit activity."

"Heh, of course I was right, Sammy."

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Breakfast was a simple affair of coffee and breakfast sandwiches from the 7-11 within walking distance of their motel. Sam had gone online to get them reservations for the noon harbor cruise and lunch would be served on board. They decided to talk to the office workers first thing in the morning, come back to the motel to do some more research based on any information they received, and change into casual clothes for the cruise.

They met with no resistance when entering the office building during working hours dressed in their nondescript suits. There was no security guard and no metal detector. They easily found their way up the elevator among a press of people similarly attired to the 10th floor where the offices of Wright & Sheppard, Attorneys at Law were located. The receptionist carefully considered the CDC badges before paging Laurie Haskins, the paralegal who had discovered Scott Old's body.

"Would you show us the office where you found Mr. Old, please?" Sam requested once introductions had been made.

"Certainly, right this way" the attractive twenty-something answered before preceding them down the hallway and indicating a large corner office. "He was in his chair, slumped over his desk. At first I thought he had just fallen asleep. I knew he was planning to stay late the evening before, but I was still shocked. I mean, I'd never seen the man sleep at his desk before. Of course, then it turns out he wasn't asleep."

"Did it look like there had been a struggle of any kind? Anything knocked off the desk, papers pushed out of place?" Dean's question was accompanied by a charming smile.

Laurie flushed prettily, "No, everything was just as he always left it."

"Has anyone noticed anything strange going on in the office?"

"Strange in what way?"

"You know, objects misplaced, something seen out of the corner of your eye that's not there when you turn to look, a person no one knows wandering around the floor? Anything really."

"Not that I've heard. What would any of that have to do with Mr. Old's death?"

"We're just trying to investigate every possibility." Dean gave Sam a knowing glance, a slight wink and Sam heard loud and clear, 'See Dude, I told ya this thing's sneaky.' without Dean having to say a word.

They made their way slowly around the office, stopping to pick up a knick-knack here, a piece of paper there, but they found no clues of the supernatural variety. Sam even pulled the EMF meter out, just to be sure, and scanned the office, not getting a single blip. Satisfied that they hadn't missed anything important, they took their leave of the attorney's office and headed to the elevators.

Next stop was the 4th floor and the Certified Public Accounting firm of Sebastian Young & Associates. The reception area was well appointed, the furniture's dark satin finish gleamed as if it was carefully polished daily. Trade publications were strategically placed on the two tables flanking the receptionist's desk. As they walked towards her, the receptionist smiled a greeting.

"Can I help you."

"Yes please, we're here to investigate Ellen Salter's death. We're with the Center for Disease Control. Can we talk to whoever found her?" Sam spoke up as they both flashed their badges.

"Oh my." The older lady exclaimed. "That would be Brandon Wells and Chris Petrovich. Mr. Petrovich is out of the office today, but Mr. Wells is here. Just a moment and I'll see if he's available."

She pressed a few buttons and breathily began speaking into her headset. "Mr. Wells, some men from the Center for Disease Control are here to talk to you about Ms. Salter."

Brandon appeared within moments. "Hey, what's all this about? Was Ellen sick? She wasn't contagious was she?"

"Not that we're aware of, but we need to ask you a few questions." Sam interceded in his best 'calming the hysterical civilians' voice. "Where was Ellen when you found her?"

"She was by the elevator. We have a client going through a merger so Chris, Ellen, and I were staying late to get the documents filed. We decided to call it a night at around 9 o'clock. Ellen left the office about 20 minutes ahead of us. When we got to the elevator she was on the floor. It was uncanny, I mean, she was fine in the office, and then, just like that, dead."

"Besides Ms. Salter, did anything else catch your attention?"

Brandon cocked his head to the side and pondered the question. His gaze subconsciously flickered to the wall just outside of the reception area. He was hiding something. It was the answer they'd been waiting for.

"What did you see? This could be really important." Sam was all eyes and earnestness.

"It was nothing." Brandon hedged. "It couldn't have been." He mumbled to himself.

Dean exuded an air of calm nonchalance as he crossed his arms and planted his feet in a gesture that clearly said 'we aren't going anywhere until you spill you guts.'

With a huff of breath Brandon admitted, "Ok, this is impossible, I know, but there was a dark shape moving along the wall, pulsing before it disappeared. It may have been a trick of the lights. Sometimes the fluorescents can play tricks on your eyes, you know? Especially if you've been putting in some long hours."

_Jackpot!_ Sam kept his features schooled into mild interest, but he caught Dean's upraised eyebrows over the top of Brandon's head. This was the piece of information they needed.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

Now we're getting somewhere. Shouldn't take long to solve the mystery now. Sam's fingers flew over the keyboard back at the motel. He knew just which websites would be the most promising. And…voila. "Found it!" He exclaimed.

Dean paused his brisk pacing. "Whatcha got?"

"It's a Stalker. All the pieces fit. Stalkers are extremely rare, but the ones that have been found live in cities, usually apartment buildings, but an office building would probably work too. They're small, only about three feet high, and coal black when they're visible at all. You'll like this part, they're corporeal."

"Awesome! What kills'em?"

"Let's see…consecrated iron rounds should do the trick."

As Sam continued to scan for additional information, Dean crouched by the weapons' bag sorting the weapons into two piles. Sam surmised that one pile was for weapons that Dean thought would be useful for this hunt and the other pile was for weapons that could safely be left behind as they wouldn't be necessary. The pistols and consecrated iron rounds went into the 'take' pile, the shotguns and salt cartridges went into the 'leave' pile. The never-leave-home-without-it salt canister, matches, and holy water joined the pistols in the 'take' pile. Dean hesitated while regarding an axe before it too landed in the 'take' pile. Always be prepared, Dean was a regular Boy Scout.

"What does it do to its victims? How does it kill them?"

"There's not a lot of information to go on there. I can only find one instance of a survivor. That person was alive, but seems like his head was pretty messed up. He couldn't remember much of anything regarding the attack and insisted that he was 24 when his actual age was 27. All of his memories from those three years were gone."

"Wait a minute, Sammy. Did you just say the survivor was alive? Isn't that a little bit redundant?" Dean was all wide eyed innocence.

"You think you're funny, huh?"

"Oh come on, Sammy, it was a little bit funny."

"Do you want to hear this or not?" It was best not to encourage Dean when he got into one of these moods.

"I do, I really, truly do."

"OK then. The theory goes that the Stalker feeds on the memories of its victims starting with the most recent memories and working backwards. At the very end the person forgets how to breathe and then its lights out. If the Stalker can be killed quickly enough, the consumed memories are released, but like I said, there's ever only been the one survivor and all of this is just a theory."

"The one survivor who was found alive, you mean." Dean grinned, unwilling to let his joke go.

"Yes you jerk, the one survivor who was found alive."

To be continued

**A/N: I found two creatures that steal memories in my own internet search. The first one was from Never Ending Story 2. That creature didn't fit this story, but bonus points go to whoever can find the reference to a character from Never Ending Story in chapter 3 which will be posted within the week. So stay tuned for the hunt as told from Sam's POV. My Stalker is based on the second one I found, a creature from a role playing game.**

**And please review. You wouldn't believe how motivating the reviews are.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its wonderful characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke and the CW. I don't own anything and isn't that just pitiful.**

**A/N: This chapter contains a little brotherly moment and the hunt.**

**Consumed Memories**

**by Disneymagic**

**Chapter 3 Why did I believe him?**

With only minutes to spare, the young hunters boarded the American Rover for the two hour harbor cruise. The tall mast ship was everything Sam had hoped it would be. Green hull and red sails made the majestic craft conspicuous among the fishing yachts docked in front of the pier. Sam could smell the strong diesel fuel mixed with the salty ocean water. It made him feel free somehow, like he could sail away from his complicated life and never come back. Running away didn't work though, he had tried it only to be pulled back time and time again. Most recently he hadn't been pulled back so much as he had returned of his own free will. He was where he was supposed to be and doing what he was meant to do. At least that's the way it was beginning to feel. And he wasn't going to be leaving Dean behind again, that simply wasn't an option anymore.

Once they were under way, the passengers were allowed to move freely around the deck, asking questions of crew members or just watching the shore line move steadily past.

"Dude, you must be loving this." Dean commented as he stood at the railing. "With the rigging and ropes draped over the masts, this boat looks a lot like a pirate ship and you used to really dig pirates."

"That's when I was eight and I only liked pirates because you told me you thought they were cool." Sam admitted while shifting from one foot to the other.

"Really? Huh. I remember I could keep you busy for hours with a fake treasure map and a few buttons buried where X marked the spot."

"Yeah, but I think you spent longer making the maps and burying the 'treasure' than I spent following them."

"You might have a point there." An affectionate smile graced Dean's features.

Lunch was served on deck buffet style. Offerings included several pasta dishes, baked chicken, roast beef, and a variety of vegetables. The platters gleamed in the sunlight and Sam couldn't remember seeing a more impressive spread. Dean's face lit up like a Christmas tree when the desserts came out. He snagged three plates, each with a different pastry, but had the good grace to look sheepish when he caught Sam staring at him in astonishment.

The tour of the harbor was over before they knew it. Back on dry land, the brothers felt the ground rocking beneath them.

"Its going to take a little while to get used to being on a steady surface and not having to compensate for the rolling deck of the boat." Sam explained.

Dean didn't reply. Instead he gave Sam a little shove to see if he would topple over, just like a good big brother knew he should. Sam staggered forward a few steps, but managed to stay upright and turned to Dean with eyes narrowed menacingly.

"Oh, you are so going to pay for that. When you least expect it, expect it."

"Dude, you sound like you're in third grade."

"I'm just giving you fair warning."

It was only 2 o'clock and they planned to be at the office building between 4 and 5 o'clock. That would give them time to get in and hidden somewhere while the building was locked up for the night. They had discovered that once the doors were locked, they could be opened from the inside, but not from the outside. People working late at night could get out and the doors would automatically lock when they closed again. With a little time on their hands, the young men wandered around downtown taking in the sights. There was indeed a huge naval museum and a naval ship available for tourists to walk around on. Every few blocks they spotted a statue of a mermaid, each painted with unique patterns. They walked past well maintained parks and shops while making a contest out of who could point out the painted mermaids faster.

Fun time over, it was time to get back to work.

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Just as before, the hunters arrived at the building dressed in business suits. No one gave them more than a cursory glance as they made their way to the service stairwell. People were already leaving in a fairly steady stream. It shouldn't take too long before the halls and rooms were quiet enough to make hiding unnecessary. They each carried a bag with supplies, weapons and a pair of janitor overalls. This hunt seemed to be all about the disguises, but at least they wouldn't have to hunt in the restricting suits and the overalls had plenty of pockets for carrying the requisite items of their trade. Even Dean'd had to admit, it was the perfect cover to allow them easy access to the entire building after hours.

"So, let me get this straight." Dean grumbled after they had settled into the stairwell to wait. "We have to stay here for how long?"

"Just for an hour or so. I doubt these stairs get used often, especially at this time of the day. What's the problem?"

"No problem, just…borrrriiinnnggg."

"Well, suck it up, Dean." Even as he said it, Sam began thinking of ways to solve the problem, because heaven forbid Dean should be bored. A bored big brother meant only one thing…trouble, all little brothers knew that with certainty. It was in times of boredom that the spit wads and wedgies became prevalent. _I've got to find something for him to do, something that sounds real. Otherwise, I'm going to end up with spiders in my hair, or Lord knows what else he'll come up with._ "Besides, we need to investigate the whole building, so we'll just start here."

"Fine." Dean straightened up from his crouching inspection of a small spider making a web in the corner of the first floor landing.

The stairwell was completely empty of people, or anything else for that matter. The walls, stairs and handrail were all painted off-white. There were black smudges and scrapes on some of the walls where clumsy maintenance workers had bumped into them while carrying bulky loads. Fluorescent lights illuminated every corner making the flashlights in their bags pointless. Sam concentrated on looking for holes or cracks in the walls, anything that would signify a hidden den or cubby for a Stalker, although he didn't know what that might consist of. Dean moved along a step ahead of him, unconsciously taking the point position even though neither of them expected to be attacked now, it was too bright and too early for that. Taking their time, the hunters completed the search on the top flight of stairs without finding anything suspicious.

"Hey Sam, hand me the long knife in your bag."

"What for?" Sam was immediately wary.

"There's a hornet's nest or something up in the corner over there and I want to knock it down."

"Yeah, 'cause that sounds like a really good idea. Leave it alone, Dean. I think we can begin searching the office space now."

"Twelve floors of office space is a lot of ground to cover, we should split up. I'll take the top six floors, you take the bottom six. We can keep in touch on our cell phones. We call each other as we finish each floor, that way I'll always know which floor you're on."

"And I'll know where you are. It's a two way street, big brother. I worry about you too."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Who said anything about being worried about you? I just want to make sure I get that flashlight you borrowed back when we're done."

Sam headed down to the sixth floor while Dean began his search of the twelfth floor. He emerged from the service stairwell to find the hallway quiet, so he slipped into the restroom and changed into the overalls from his bag. Loading up his pockets with the flashlight, pistol loaded with iron rounds, extra iron rounds, salt, accelerant and matches, Sam felt as prepared as he could get.

The receptionist's desk was empty, she was definitely a nine to fiver. Nothing under the desk or tables or behind the tall potted plants.

The hallway and offices to the right of the reception area were dark, everyone on that side of the floor must have already gone home. That would be the safest way to start since he wanted to avoid people. Flashlight in hand, Sam eased his way into the first darkened office. Light wavered briefly over the bookcases, file cabinets, desk and chairs. A thorough search of the walls, including behind the furniture, revealed no openings large enough to hide a three foot creature.

The next room was a file room, boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling on two of the four walls, the remaining two walls contained file cabinets. It took longer than he would have liked to check behind the boxes. By the time he was done, he was covered in dust and still no closer to finding the Stalker or its hideout. This was taking too long. _I'm just going to have to forget about finding the lair and look for the Stalker itself._

Having made that decision, the search went much faster. Sam moved quickly from office to office. He concentrated on watching for movement. The floor was set up with large executive offices running around the outer perimeter and smaller offices, file rooms and cubicles making up the inner space. After finishing the outer loop, he switched directions and started scanning the cubicle area.

The phone in one of his back pockets vibrated, announcing that Dean was done with the twelfth floor. _Already?_

"Are you still on six? Dude, what's taking you so long? At this rate we'll be here all night. You do realize you have five other floors to search, don't you?"

"It's not a competition, Dean. I'm almost done here anyway. I'll be moving down to the fifth floor in about 10 more minutes. You find anything?"

"The only thing I've found so far is some bitchy woman who took one look at this ridiculous janitor's uniform you made me wear and started yelling at me about the dust on the window ledges." Dean was working himself up to a full rant. "Sam, you know how much I hate wearing these disguises."

"Calm down, man. At least she didn't call the cops on you. That's the important thing, right?" Sam was able to keep the smirk out of his voice. _Don't laugh. Don't laugh. Do. Not. Laugh._

"Yeah, right. You find anything?"

"Nope, nothing, zip, zilch." Sam finished his exploration of the sixth floor as he talked to his brother. "I'm going to head on down to five now."

The Stalker was right there as he opened the stairwell door to the fifth floor, and although Sam had his pistol in position and aimed, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. A man who looked to be a little older than Dean was lying limply across the creature's lap, shielding it from any shot that Sam could take. It was black as midnight with the shape of a human and the size of a young child, but its face had no discernible features. It was fuzzy around the edges as though colored by someone who didn't know how to stay within the lines. As soon as the stairwell door closed behind Sam, the Stalker dumped the man on the ground and took off down a hallway, disappearing into the shadows. _Crap, that thing is fast._ Three missed shots later and Sam had his cell phone to his ear.

"Dean, it's here. Get down to the fifth floor, now!"

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Sam was leaning over the Stalker's latest victim when he heard Dean's pounding footsteps in the stairwell. The door burst open and Dean came to a skidding stop as soon as he caught sight of Sam.

"You okay?" Dean asked, eyes round with apprehension, darting from Sam to the man lying on the floor and then back to Sam.

"I'm good. This guy was in between us, I couldn't risk a shot until it was too late. It ran off down that hallway." Sam gestured off to the left. He knew it was irrational, but he felt as though he'd failed.

"How is he?"

"He's alive, that's all I know so far. He hasn't come to yet." Shifting his attention back to the man lying in front of him, Sam tried putting gentle pressure on the guy's shoulder, increasing to a shake when that got no response.

"Come on, come on, we have to get him out of here and go after the Stalker." Tension from the unfinished hunt radiated off Dean in waves.

"Fine, help me carry him out of here and then we can come back up and finish the sonovabitch off."

Dean considered that for a couple of seconds and then shook his head decisively. "No Sam, that won't work. You gotta take him out and I'll stay here."

"No way, man. That's not going to happen. I'm not leaving you in here with that Stalker all by yourself."

"Awwww, that's sweet Sammy, but it's all right. I can take care of myself."

"Stop being an asshole, Dean. That Stalker is extremely fast and can be invisible, for God's sake, but it can't attack two of us at the same time. We need to stay together."

"OK, just think about this for a minute." Dean grasped Sam's elbow and looked at him intently. "Right now, that fugly is trapped down a dead end hallway. As long as one of us stays here, it can't leave this floor. If we both go, there's no telling where that thing will have gone by the time we're back. We'll end up having to search the entire building again and if it's actively hiding from us, we'll never find it. You said it yourself, Sam, it can be fucking invisible if it wants to be."

"Then you take him outside and I'll stay here. It doesn't always have to be you." Sam pulled out the big guns, the soft beseeching voice, down swept gaze, looking back up to meet Dean's eyes in a direct plea. Works every time.

"Yeah. Yeah it does, Sam." Determination evident in Dean's clenched jaw.

Unless it doesn't work at all.

And just like that, Sam found himself crouched down trying one more time to rouse the unconscious man before he had to carry him out of the building. This time he was met with more success. The guy's head began turning from side to side jerkily before he blinked his eyes rapidly and then he was staring at Sam with utter bewilderment on his face. His eyes tracked from Sam to Dean who was standing nearby.

"What's going on? Who are you?" Worry tinged the guy's voice.

This was going to take a soft touch and careful handling to keep the poor guy from completely panicking. Nothing like waking up to find two strangers standing over you, not to mention the whole possible memory loss thing. Sam caught Dean's eye and cocked his head sharply to the side. _Move back a little bit._ Dean caught the meaning, nodded, and took two steps backwards.

"Hey, how're you doing? My name's Sam and that's Dean over there. We just found you here. Do you remember what happened?" Sam's expression was one of pure concern.

"No." The guy frowned in concentration. "I was in my apartment…I think…and now I'm…where am I?"

"You're at work, at least I assume you work here. What's your name?"

"My name's Jack… Jack Bastian, but I don't work here. I'm a student over at William and Mary College."

"College student, huh? You look older than that. How old are you?" Sam shared a look with Dean, eyebrows raised.

"Just turned 21." It sounded more like a question than a statement.

"OK then." _Not_. "We need to get you out of here. You need some help getting up?" Sam extended his hand and Jack clambered up.

The trip down in the elevator was quiet, both men lost in their own thoughts. Sam was sure that Jack's thoughts probably centered around 'What the hell?' And he didn't have any answers that he thought Jack would be willing to accept, so instead Sam thought about what it meant to be the younger brother.

Being the little brother truly sucked sometimes. For instance every time Dean said 'You get the kids, or the old lady, or the friggin dog, out of here and I'll go face unspeakable danger all by myself'. Like that was perfectly acceptable. And every time Sam swore to himself that he wouldn't let Dean take those kinds of risks and yet every time he did. _What's up with that?_ It must have something to do with being in the heat of the moment. In the middle of the chaos Dean just sounded so sure that what he expected Sam to do was the most logical thing in the world. He didn't hesitate and his certainty was contagious. The Wendigo in Colorado earlier this year had already injured Dean when he went running off the take the damn thing on while instructing Sam to get Haley and her brothers to safety. And just about a month ago the disastrous hunt for the Rawhead had nearly killed his older brother when he sent Sam out of the house with the two kids while he stayed in the basement with his amped up taser. Now here it was happening again. _Shit!_

Sam hustled Jack off the elevator as soon as the doors opened and was almost pushing him along with a hand at his back when a grinning man walked rapidly towards them.

"There you are Jack. I was just coming to see if you wanted to join Steve and me for a beer." The good natured guy gave Jack a small punch on the arm.

Jack was looking at good-natured-guy as though he had two heads, but Sam just wanted, needed, to get back to Dean before he did something stupid.

Before Jack had time to protest, Sam said, "Can you help us out? I just found Jack upstairs on the ground. We're not sure what happened, but he's pretty confused right now. Can you make sure he gets home all right?"

Good-natured-guy also turned out to be helpful-concerned-guy and he was instantly solicitous. "Of course. Hey Jack, you feeling OK? Come on, man, let's get you home. I'm sure Cindy will want to know about this."

Sam gave Jack a quick nod when he turned doubtfully to follow good-natured-helpful-concerned-guy towards the exit of the building.

Without a backwards glance, Sam was off and running back to the elevators_. Something's not right._ The burning pit in his stomach was not the result of a vision or a premonition, it was caused by the sudden realization that there was no way Dean had stayed put, blocking the hallway, waiting for Sam to return so they could hunt the Stalker together. When had Dean ever done that? Sure, he had made it sound like he was only staying behind to make sure the Stalker remained trapped down the dead-end hallway. _Why did I believe him?_

Sam punched the elevator call button with more force than was required. He paced back and forth. Maybe the stairs would be faster, it's only five floors. He turned towards the stairwell and the bell to the elevators dinged. Changing directions again, Sam boarded the elevator and punched the fifth floor button. _Come on, come on, come on._

To be continued

**A/N: I figure this doesn't count as an evil cliffie because you already know how the hunt ends. Did you catch the Never Ending Story reference? Next chapter contains hurt!Dean and caring!Sam.**

**Please review if you have the time. I love to hear what you think.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its wonderful characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke and the CW. I don't own anything and isn't that just pitiful.**

**Consumed Memories**

**by Disneymagic**

**Chapter 4 Is that a Pistol in Your Pocket**

The elevator doors opened on the fifth floor and sure enough, Dean was nowhere to be seen. _I'm going to die of not-surprise._ Sam pulled his pistol out of one of his many pockets, clicked the safety off, and maneuvered silently down the hallway Dean had undoubtedly gone to explore. There was no sound coming from any of the offices ahead of him. That could be a good sign. Maybe Dean was just up ahead and around that turn in the L-shaped hallway in full-on stealth mode. Or it could be a bad sign, a very bad sign.

As Sam turned the corner and looked into the first office on that stretch of hallway, he was confronted with the very sight he most dreaded. Dean was lying on the ground with the Stalker on top of him. He wasn't moving. Sam fired the pistol three times in rapid succession and this time he didn't miss.

The Stalker let out a high-pitched squeal and dissolved into a black oily spot that became gradually smaller and smaller until there was nothing left.

Sam reached his brother's side in three long strides and skid to a stop. "Dean!" His low voice rumbled with worry, all feelings of annoyance instantly evaporating. A quick scan showed no blood or bruising.

Dean blinked sluggishly before focusing on Sam. "Hey Sammy, what's going on?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Sam held his breath, waiting to hear how bad it was.

"Let's see…the last thing I remember you were braiding your hair for the prom." Dean smirked.

All right, so Dean wasn't at his best, but he was definitely trying and that was worth something.

"You're a riot, now seriously, what do you remember from earlier today?"

Dean's eyes were hooded, but he answered readily enough. "We were hunting a Stalker. I assume it attacked me." He cleared his throat guiltily before asking, "Did you get it?"

"Yeah, I got it, shot it with the consecrated iron rounds and it dissipated." Sam grinned with relief.

"Dissipated huh? Extra points for the college-educated word there Sam. Jack OK?"

"Jack definitely lost a couple of years to the Stalker, but according to the research I did, his memories should have been restored as soon as the Stalker was killed. We should check on him tomorrow though and make sure. I sent him home with a friend of his we met down in the lobby."

Dean nodded and his eyes slid closed on the world's longest blink.

"So, you comfortable or are you planning to get up sometime tonight?" Sam teased gently.

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**Present.**

Dean made it into the motel room with his bag slung over his shoulder. Sam's worry ratcheted up another level as he watched. _I wonder if he realizes how badly he's swaying._ Once inside the room, Dean dumped his bag on the floor and flopped sideways onto the mattress on his stomach, arms and legs spread out to the sides like a giant rag doll.

"You feeling all right?" Sam couldn't help asking.

"Just really tired." Came the reply muffled by the pillow Dean had pulled over and mashed his face into.

Fever…fever might explain the sluggishness. Maybe Dean had been hiding an illness from him. It was unlikely, since hiding a serious illness could spell disaster on a hunt, causing injury to one or both of them, and that was something Dean would never consciously do. But, it was best to check, just in case.

"Hey, man, are you sick? You have a fever or something?"

No response.

"Dean, I'm coming over there and I'm going to check you for a fever. If you don't want me to all you have to do is tell me to stay the fuck away." Sam waited an appropriate amount of time.

No response.

It wasn't a good idea to startle Dean when there were weapons nearby. Even without the weapons it could be a dangerous proposition. Sam eased the knife out from under the pillow that was still at the head of the bed and moved it out of reach before resting a hand on his brother's forehead. Dean moved not a muscle and he wasn't overly warm to the touch. Keeping his hand where it was, Sam considered what to do next. Dean was dead to the world and that wasn't the least bit disturbing. _Right._

Maybe he should try harder to wake Dean up. But it could be that the Stalker attack had taken a lot out of him and he just needed to rest. If his brother was down for the night, he at least needed to be a little more comfortable. It couldn't feel all that great to be lying on top of the pistol, flashlight, and all the rest of the hunting paraphernalia he had in the front pockets of the overalls he was still wearing.

It didn't look like Dean was going to be waking up anytime soon, but just in case, Sam held a one way conversation, explaining everything he was doing and never taking both hands off his brother at the same time. It was like dealing with a skittish colt, or an unconscious colt that might awaken and become skittish. Since Dean was used to his touch, he figured it would be less startling if there was constant contact.

"I'm just going to roll you over and get the flashlight. I know what you're thinking and you can just relax. I'm not trying to take advantage of you." Sam moved his brother's arms and legs closer to his body and then pulled him over onto his back.

No response.

"Hey Dean, is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? Oh, come on Man, that was a little bit funny." Sam wasn't laughing either, but his nervousness sometimes got the better of him and came out in strange ways.

No response.

He emptied Dean's pockets of their remaining contents and moved on to his boots.

"OK, boots next. You don't want to sleep with these things on, do ya? No, I didn't think so." The boots pulled off easily once the laces had been loosened.

"How about I move you so you're not sideways on the bed? Your legs are hanging off the edge." This proved to be easier said than done. Dean was completely limp and it was awkward trying to maneuver him at that strange angle. "Dude, you're fucking heavy." Sam grunted.

Through all the pulling and prodding Dean never flinched and his head lolled loosely on his neck.

_Oh God, this is so not good._

"That's the best I can do. You sleep and I'm going to recheck my research, see if I missed anything."

No response.

Before he left his brother's bedside, Sam pressed his hand against Dean's chest and felt the strong heartbeat and steady rise and fall signifying the deep breathing of sleep.

_That, at least, is a good sign._

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Rechecking all of his notes and rereading all of the entries on the websites he'd previously viewed netted no new information. Sam expanded his search in every direction looking for anything connected with Stalkers that would explain what was happening. At least once every hour he got up from his chair at the small table in the room to check on Dean. He was long past his concern over startling his brother. _Come on Dean, jump up and throw a punch. _No such luck.

The early morning sun found Sam asleep with his head on his folded arms and the laptop browser open to a website describing ancient Egyptian boxes that were rumored to grant wishes in exchange for your memories. He had gotten way off course in his search for an answer. With a sigh, Sam turned off the laptop, rubbed at his eyes, and went to stand next to Dean's bed.

"Dean, its morning. Time to wake up." Without much hope, Sam leaned over and gave Dean's shoulder a little shake.

Green eyes blinked open and Dean's head turned until he was gazing up at Sam. "Sam? What's up with the hovering?"

The déjà vu hit him the same time as the relief. It was like looking into the exact same expression he'd received last night after the Stalker strike. Confusion with an undercurrent of exhaustion and maybe a hint of embarrassment.

Sam's vision began to tunnel and he realized that he'd been holding his breath. Backing up until his knees hit his own bed, he sat down, took a deep breath, and let the relief wash over him. _He's awake, he just needed a good night's sleep_.

With a grimace, Dean propped himself up on his elbows and his eyes narrowed to slits. He looked Sam up and down before asking, "Dude, what's with the corny overalls, you look like a janitor?"

"Yeah, about that, I kinda freaked out a little bit last night when you fell asleep and I couldn't wake you up. I spent all night researching aftereffects of Stalker attacks and forgot to change out of the overalls." Sam waited for the teasing to begin. He waited to hear about what a girl he was. He was just so relieved that Dean was all right, the expected jibes would be music to his ears.

But Dean was just staring at him in puzzlement. "I'm going to need some coffee before we continue this discussion, because you aren't making a bit of sense." With that Dean lowered his legs off the bed and sat up, getting the first good look at his own attire.

"What the hell, Sam! What did you…" Dean's outburst cut off with an audible click of his jaw while his gaze swept the room. "This isn't our motel room."

Sam caught the quick flash of panic followed closely by determined anger as they raced across Dean's face. A moment later and Dean was lunging for the knife Sam had moved to the dresser last night. Even though his guard had been down, Sam was still fast to react, tackling Dean before he made it to the dresser and restraining him by sitting on top of his chest and grabbing both his arms tightly to stop the punches before they could connect.

If Dean had been in peak condition, this maneuver would never have worked. He would have rolled away, kicked out, done anything to prevent himself from being pinned. As it was, he bucked and twisted, but apparently didn't have the strength to throw Sam off.

"What…have…you…done…with…Sam?" The words ground out of Dean as he struggled.

"Dean, calm down. I am Sam. I don't know what you think is going on, but if you calm down we can figure this out." Sam tried to sound reassuring, tried to sound as Sam-like as he could.

"No, don't play games with me. There must have been two of you 'cause we already killed one shapeshifter." Dean stopped fighting and lay still panting heavily, probably saving his strength for one mighty effort to get free.

"Are you talking about the shapeshifter in St. Louis? The one impersonating Zac Warren? That was a couple of months ago, Dean. Don't you remember coming to Nolfolk, Virginia? The Stalker?" Sam was speaking quickly, trying to keep Dean's attention and get through to him.

Dean clenched and unclenched his fists in impotent rage, refusing to meet Sam's eye. Clearly not believing a word.

"The Stalker steals memories and it must have gotten some of yours, although I don't know how since it's dead. I can show you my notes and the research I've done for this hunt. I have Dad's journal. All your things are here. What can I do to prove that it's really me?"

"If you're really Sam then you know what you have to do." This time Dean looked Sam squarely in the eye, as if double dog daring him.

Silver, shapeshifters can't tolerate silver.

"Fine." Sam shifted his weight to pin Dean's forearms under his knees before reaching over to extract the spare silver knife from Dean's duffle. The sharp blade flashed in the morning sun coming through the motel room window before biting into the flesh of his own arm. "Satisfied?" He asked, as he showed the shallow wound dripping blood to his skeptical brother.

The tension melted from Dean's entire body. "Yeah, got off me."

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The laptop and all of Sam's notes on Stalker lore were spread around Dean as he sat on his bed. _This situation was truly and totally fucked up, that's what it was_. The last thing he clearly remembered was watching as the shapeshifter, wearing his own face, strangled Sam and then having to pull the trigger to kill the thing. And wasn't that just a treat, the once in a lifetime chance to watch himself die.

But Sam said that was several months ago and he has no recollection of anything between then and now. None of the things Sam described as having happened since then even strike a vague chord, they were just gone. The worst part is that he could feel something churning and pulling at his thoughts constantly. It took most of his concentration to lock his thoughts in place in his head.

"You're sure the Stalker's dead, Sam?" Dean licked his lower lip, one of his few nervous tells.

"I'm sure." Sam was keeping his distance, clearly giving Dean some space to process.

"And I was fine right afterwards?"

"I wouldn't call it fine, exactly, but you remembered everything other than the actual attack."

"Then why am I losing memories now?" Dean's fist came down on the bedspread in frustration.

"I don't know, but we'll figure it out. How do you feel right now?" Sam left his post near the bathroom door to put one hand on Dean's shoulder in a gesture of encouragement and support.

"I'm good." Dean shrugged off Sam's hand.

It wasn't that he didn't want the comfort, the physical proof that he wasn't alone in this, because he did. He just wasn't ready for Sam to know the extent of his vulnerability yet. He'd given a pretty good show of that already when he had been unable to mount any kind of defense against Sam's tackle. The brief struggle had left him weak, muscles trembling as if he had just gone twenty rounds with the heavy weight champion. Dean was angry that his body was betraying him this way.

Sam sighed as he moved back to sit on the other bed. "Dean, you need to tell me exactly what's going on with you. You're our biggest clue right now."

"I don't wanna be a clue." Dean replied petulantly.

"Dude, spill, please." Out came Sam's emo eyes all soft and he could almost see the tears beginning to well up.

_Damn, those little brother eyes were hard to resist._ Oh well, Sam was going to figure it out soon enough anyway.

"It's hard to explain. It feels like the energy is being pulled out of me, not just that I'm tired, but like I'm being drained." He couldn't look at his brother and admit to his weakness at the same time so he concentrated his gaze on the laptop.

"I know this sucks, Dean, but it has to have something to do with the Stalker, so we're not completely in the dark here. I have a plan, let's get some coffee, maybe some breakfast, and head over to Jack Bastian's house. We need to check to see if he got his memories back."

"You know where he lives?"

"Yup, the DMV database is a wonderful thing."

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They hit a fast food drive-thru for coffee and breakfast sandwiches. Dean didn't really feel much like eating, but he had to keep his ebbing strength up somehow.

Sam was driving and Dean was sprawled in the passenger seat. Driving privileges had been taken away when walking proved to be too much of a challenge. He had collided with the door frame and bounced into Sam on his way out of the motel. If Sam hadn't been there and ready to catch him, he would have ended up in the bushes planted outside the room.

He was glad that Sam had a plan because he was having a hard time stringing two thoughts together. His mind was like a fucking sieve and he was too busy trying to plug all the holes to do much of anything else. On top of that, he'd only been awake for a couple of hours and he was already starting to get tired again. The coffee was doing its best to keep him awake, unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

The scenery slipped past the window in a hypnotizing blur. Sam had told him where Jack's house was, but it hadn't seemed all that important since he wasn't driving so that was one of the bits he didn't try to hold onto and soon it was gone, as if he'd never known. His eyes were beginning to burn, so he closed them to give them a break. The sun felt warm against his face, peaceful. He leaned his head back against the headrest to get the full effect of the sunshine.

The car hit a bump in the road, causing his head to bounce against the headrest and he must have been dozing because it took him a minute to focus on where he was and what was going on. Try as he might, he couldn't remember everything that had happened during the day so far. _This was bad, worse than bad it was terrible._ His heart began to thump painfully in his chest and he rubbed one hand over his sternum in an unconscious effort to ease the pain. He chanced a sidelong look at Sam, but Sam's eyes were glued to the road, his mind lost in his own thoughts.

The entire morning hadn't completely disappeared like the months following St. Louis, but there were holes, huge freaking holes, of time that were just gone. He could remember being tackled and held down by Sam, but he couldn't remember why. _Yeah, so that wasn't at all disconcerting._ The discussion with Sam about Stalkers was still there, floating around in his brain, but it was like Swiss cheese, bits and pieces missing. He couldn't remember getting coffee that morning, but there was a half a cup of coffee in his cup holder and he could taste the coffee in the back of his throat as if he'd just swallowed some of it before dozing off.

Reality was slipping away from him. Slices of him were breaking off and floating away. He needed a way to ground himself, something to hold onto. Without his permission, his hand reached out and made a desperate grab for the material of Sam's closest sleeve. Luckily, Sam wasn't currently using that hand to steer the Impala, it was resting in his lap. Now he felt Sam's startled eyes upon him, but he didn't return the look, instead he sat staring out the passenger window, trying to pull the stray pieces of his day back into himself. But they were utterly gone, not just missing, but vanished without a trace. His grip on Sam's sleeve tightened.

"Dean?" Cautious.

"Don't let me fall asleep, Sam." His voice sounded raspy, even to his own ears. "Pull over the next time you see a pharmacy. I'm going to need something stronger that coffee, maybe caffeine pills or Red Bull, probably both."

He hoped that they got to wherever the hell they were going quickly.

To be continued

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. More to come.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its wonderful characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke and the CW. I don't own anything and isn't that just pitiful.**

**Consumed Memories**

**by Disneymagic**

**Chapter 5 Melt Down**

Dean didn't let go of his brother's sleeve until they pulled into the pharmacy parking lot. Even then it wasn't without effort. As soon as he released his death grip, Sam was out of the car and around to the passenger side, reaching in to grab Dean's elbow to help him out of the car. He had to huff out a laugh because his little brother was in what Dean liked to refer to as his Golden Retriever mode, all eager helpfulness and devotion. A picture of Sam sitting at the edge of the bed with a pair of slippers in his mouth jumped into his mind.

They walked into the pharmacy side by side, Sam keeping pace with Dean's slow guarded stride. Trembling legs would only move but so fast and he had to focus on staying upright while also holding on to the fragments of his day that still belonged to him. He relied on Sam to guide him down the correct aisle, which Sam did dutifully with a nudge or a redirecting pull on his arm.

There was a large selection of energy boosting products including energy gum and energy shot drinks that advertized 6 hours of increased productivity and increased concentration. _Perfect_. Flavors of the drinks ranged from coffee flavored to berry flavored to chocolate flavored. Not knowing how long he would need a supply of energy or how well any of it would work, he loaded up a hand held basket with several different brands and flavors of the small bottles of liquid and five packs of Jolt gum.

On the way back to the check out counter, he stumbled forward and was unable to catch himself, but Sam was right there with a hand against his chest and a murmured, "Whoa, steady." Sounded kinda like Sam was talking to a horse.

Before they even got back to the car, Dean popped a piece of gum in his mouth and began chewing. It had a citrus flavor and made his tongue tingle. Even though he had built up quite a caffeine tolerance over the years, he still noticed that his head began to clear of cobwebs marginally. _This shit might actually work_. Feeling a surge of hope, he pulled one of the chocolate flavored energy shot drinks out of the plastic bag the cashier had placed them in and drank the entire bottle in one swig.

Sam stayed by his side until he was all the way in the passenger seat, then closed his door, and jogged around to the driver's side. Once inside the car, Sam turned a questioning stare on him.

"How is it now?" Sam finally broke the silence that had fallen on them ever since Dean's plea for caffeine.

"Better...it's better. I can focus more, hold onto…my thoughts, I guess." Was his voice quivering? It must have been because here came Sam's large hand giving his knee a reassuring squeeze.

"So, you're still losing memory and its worse when you fall asleep, is that it?" Sam's stare continued to bore right through him.

Dean nodded sharply, grateful that he didn't have to explain, that Sam just seemed to know, to understand.

"It's insidious the way it works, draining your strength to make you sleep so you can't consciously hold onto your thoughts and memories." Sam was thinking out loud as he turned his attention back to pulling out of the parking lot and into traffic.

"Mmm hmm, hey Sam, where are we going anyway?" He asked while reaching for another of the energy bottles, this time berry flavored.

That's when Sam started talking. He explained where they were going, why they were going there, and what they had done so far. He couldn't know what Dean had lost so he covered all the bases. He didn't stop talking until they reached Jack's house. Dean soaked it all in, listening intently to every word like the words were a tether, holding him firmly in the present.

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The houses lining the blocks in Jack's neighborhood were all two story brick homes with well manicured lawns and nicely tended flower beds. Jack's house was no exception. As he pulled up in front of the beautiful home, Sam turned his head to take stock of his older brother's condition. _He's wired_. Dean's eyes were glassy and his movements were jerky.

"Don't you think you should pace yourself?" He asked and snagged the box of Jolt gum away from his hyped-up brother before he could get a second yellow rectangle into his mouth. "It says on the box that one of those energy shot bottles should last for six hours and you've had three of them plus a piece of gum in the last half hour."

"Yeah, but they don't, Sam." Dean spoke fast and clipped his words off almost before he'd even gotten them out.

"They don't what?"

"They don't last six hours." Dean made a swipe for the box of gum, even though there were four other boxes in the bag at his feet.

"Dean, I just think you'd better slow down. Have you thought about what's gonna happen when you crash off this caffeine high you've got going? 'Cause I'm thinking that's not going to be a good thing."

Dean glared, but didn't contradict him.

This amped up version of his brother was a far sight better than the shuffling, stumbling version from the pharmacy, but Sam still wondered what the Bastion family was going to make of him. He couldn't leave Dean alone in the car though, not while they were still unsure about what was happening. The symptoms Dean was currently displaying might not be all there was, might not even be the worst of it. He needed to keep Dean nearby, just in case.

Sam led the way up the stone walkway to the front door and rang the bell. They didn't have to wait long before the door was answered by a statuesque brunette wearing a tailored jumpsuit.

"Hello." Her tone was politely inquiring, but her gaze lingered on Dean, and not in the 'be still my beating heart' way that many women regarded his brother, more in the 'are his eyes dialated' way that someone might regard a cocaine addict.

"Hi, my name is Sam and this is Dean. Does Jack Bastian live here?" Even as he spoke to the woman, Sam reached a restraining hand over to still the frenetic tapping of Dean's foot.

"Yes, he does. Hold on and I'll get him for you." She closed the door, leaving them standing on the front porch.

Moments later the door opened again and Jack regarded them both curiously. "Can I help you?" Dawning recognition. "Oh wait, you're those two guys from last night, right? Wow, that was really weird wasn't it?"

"We just wanted to come by and make sure you were all right. You were pretty out of it." Sam offered an understanding smile.

"You're telling me. Hey, sorry, I'm being rude. Come on in." The door was held wide open and Jack ushered them into what looked like a formal sitting room. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

Dean's face lit up at the word. "Sure."

Sam cringed internally but let it go. Taking the opportunity to study his brother while Jack was getting the coffee, he noticed two things. First was the way Dean occasionally rubbed a hand against his forehead and then pushed his palm hard into the side of his head. The gesture didn't indicate 'I have a splitting headache' so much as it did 'Stay in there, stay in there'. Second was the fact that Dean was vibrating, honest to God vibrating, from the tips of his fingers, through his arms, his torso, and his legs. Could be the caffeine, but it was definitely something to keep an eye on.

Jack returned with three cups of coffee. Dean's hands shook as he accepted his cup and Jack watched him appraisingly.

In order to divert his attention, Sam asked, "So, you made it home last night all right?"

"Yes, but it was the strangest thing. You know, when you found me I honestly thought I was still in college. I graduated from college nine years ago! I didn't remember moving to Norfolk or getting a job here. Hell, I didn't even remember I was married, but don't tell Cindy that part." Jack pointed towards the back of the house, presumably where Cindy had gone.

"Then how did you get home?" Dean surfaced from his cup of coffee, raising his eyebrows in interest.

"My friend, Mark, was trying to drive me here, but I kept telling him I needed to get back to school. I think Mark was beginning to think he needed to take me directly to the emergency room. I was so insistent that I didn't live anywhere around here, didn't know who Cindy was. Then all of a sudden, it was like a light switch went on inside my head and everything came back to me at once."

"How long was it from the time I left you with Mark until the time you got all your memories back?" Sam inquired.

"Not long at all, maybe 10 minutes."

_Just about the time I shot the Stalker. That fits with the limited amount of Stalker lore._

The young hunters left the Bastian house soon after, having obtained the information they'd gone for. It helped to know that killing the Stalker had released Jack's memories instantly. Now they just needed to find out why Dean was still losing his.

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The caffeine was making Dean jittery and talkative, but much of what he said didn't make a whole lot of sense. He would comment on what was directly in front of him whether it was relevant to the conversation or not. Most of the time is wasn't. Complex thoughts and abstract thinking were now beyond him.

Normally during a hunt, Dean took the initiative with planning the strategy. His practical experience and passion for the job made him a natural leader.

Not now though. Now, he was depending on Sam to tell him what to do and where to go. He was oddly compliant, content to follow Sam's lead, trusting Sam to know what needed to be done. The younger hunter was determined to step into that role and be worthy of his brother's trust.

"What now, Sam?"

They were back in their motel room and Sam was on the laptop.

"I found a common thread among all the accounts of Stalkers. They can all be traced back to Egyptian origins. Most of the legends I've found involving memories being stolen, either by objects or creatures are also from Egypt." Sam sat back from the laptop and watched as Dean tried to blow a bubble with the Jolt gum.

"This gum's no good for blowing bubbles."

"No, it's not." Sam agreed. "I also found references to some first hand accounts on Stalkers, but they aren't available on the internet. Copies of the texts are located at the Gelman Library in Washington D.C."

"Dad's journal doesn't mention Stalkers." Dean commented. This coming as he noticed the journal where it lay on the bedside table.

"Right." Sam acknowledged. "So its still early, we have time to get to D.C. and back today."

"There are museums in Washington D.C., Sam."

"That's true, Dean."

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Washington, D. C. was a four hour drive from Norfolk. Four long hours.

Dean continued to chew his gum and drink his caffeine shots, but as time went by the caffeine had less and less effect of him. He stopped bouncing up and down in his seat, stopped tapping out rhythms on his leg, eventually he was all but completely still. The inane observations about everything he saw out the window and every thought that came into his head began to taper off until he was only speaking to answer Sam's questions, the answers themselves becoming shorter and shorter.

It was possible that the caffeine-generated energy was being siphoned off supernaturally. It was also possible that the caffeine had simply ceased to have an effect on Dean's system. Sam couldn't be sure what accounted for the change.

About an hour out from their destination, Dean began to inch his way closer and closer to Sam. Sam had been keeping an eye on him, talking to him, asking questions to better judge his condition, so he noticed Dean's slow but steady migration from the right side of the passenger seat to the left side. Personal space seemed to have lost its importance as Dean continued to sidle closer until his arm was brushing against Sam's. It was then that Sam began to understand how truly bad things were in Dean-land because no way would Dean ever, ever let his insecurity show this way if he could help it.

"What if we don't find any answers at this library?" Dean's voice was low, shaky.

"We will." _Say it like you believe it._

"What if we don't? I don't know how much more of this I can take." Both hands came up to scrub at his face and rub his eyes.

A sudden thought made Sam reach past Dean to pull one of the energy bottles out of the bag in the passenger foot well. The small print on the back of the label read, 'may cause anxiety'. _No shit._

The moan that escaped his normally stoic brother's lips brought a surge of overpowering protectiveness bubbling up within him. Sam pulled the car off at the nearest exit and eased over to the side of the road so he could focus on Dean.

"It's pretty overwhelming, huh?" Not expecting an answer and not getting one. Sam reached out, placing his hand against the back of Dean's head, moving down to his neck. As he kneaded the tight muscles of Dean's neck and shoulders, Dean closed his eyes and leaned back, pressing into the reassurance Sam was offering.

The combination of anxiety from the overdose in caffeine and the constant assault on his memories was breaking his older brother. What must that be like? Having your memories ripped away, forcibly wrenched out of your mind unless you could hold onto them would be tantamount to being mentally violated. It must feel like losing the very essence of who he was. Sam shuddered at the thought.

Closely following his shudder, so closely that it may have been in response to it, Dean tucked his head down and wrapped both arms tightly against his skull. It looked as though he was trying to hold the contents of his head together, and not too successfully. Fingers dug into his short hair, tugging painfully. The soft keening noise that filled the interior of the Impala brought goose bumps to Sam's skin, but it was the violent rocking, backward and forward, on the leather seat that was the last straw.

His brother was having a full blown melt down and who could blame him really. No way was he just going to sit there and watch it happen.

"No, no, don't do that." Sam added the protection of his own arms around Dean's head and shoulders and pulled his brother's quaking form against his chest.

"Come on, it's not that bad. I'm going to help you." The platitudes fell from his lips in an endless loop. He murmured the words into his brother's hair knowing the phrases were meaningless, but hoping they conveyed a sense of serenity. "We'll figure it out soon. Not too much longer."

He wasn't sure how long it took, but at some point Dean began to relax against him. Almost imperceptibly at first, he began to let Sam take more of his weight and then his head shifted to fall more heavily against Sam's collar bone. The quaking was replaced by intermittent shivers until at last those faded away as well.

"Hey, don't fall asleep. You have to stay awake, OK? Sam cautioned.

"Yeah, I know." Dean straightened up sluggishly and faced forward again, but not before Sam caught a glimpse of his desolate expression. Embarrassment he had expected, or maybe chagrin, but not this hopeless resignation. _Don't give up_. He couldn't stand to see his older brother in this kind of mental anguish. It made his heart ache and his blood boil. _Whatever was doing this to his brother was so going to pay._

With a new determination, Sam got the car back on the expressway leading to the library and hopefully the answers they desperately needed.

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Sam's attention was torn between keeping his brother awake and finding the Egyptian text he was searching for in the back rooms of the extensive library.

Traffic getting into Washington D.C. had been brutal. They'd had to drive around in widening circles once they found the library in order to locate an open parking space. The closest available parking space had been seven blocks from the library. During the time it took to creep through traffic and park the Impala, Dean had gotten increasingly lethargic. Sam had instructed Dean to sit forward, no slouching, and each time his brother began to list to the side, Sam had reached over to shake his shoulder with a 'Dean, wake up!'.

It seemed cruel, but if Dean fell asleep, he would lose some of his memories. Depending on which memories he lost, he could become terribly confused or violent. Plus, Sam needed to take Dean with him into the library. He wasn't going to leave him in the car on his own, asleep or awake. Dean was much too vulnerable in his current condition.

The seven block walk from the car to the library had been torturous for them both. Other pedestrians had stared openly as Dean had stumbled docilely along beside him, eyes only half way open. They probably thought he was drunk or worse. Sam had hoped to avoid making a scene by letting Dean walk unassisted. He gave up on that idea when Dean nearly toppled into a small group of tourists walking in the opposite direction. At that point, Sam had settled Dean's arm over his shoulder and, glaring daggers at anyone who dared to stare, had supported Dean the rest of the way to the library.

The librarian at the help desk, a matronly woman with a kind face, directed them to the rooms at the back of the library when Sam had asked about foreign occult reference books. She gave Dean a worried look, but didn't comment on her obvious concerns.

Books on the occult were located on the right side of the back wall. They were sorted by Country and then alphabetically by author's last name.

Dean was fading, visibly losing his fight to stay conscious. He hadn't said a word since they had parked the car. His eyes were mere slits. His face, a blank slate, betrayed no awareness of anything going on around him.

It was as if he had checked out. No, not checked out, but retreated, taking the battle to hold onto his memories deep within himself, hunkering down behind some hastily erected barriers.

Outwardly, he appeared to have left himself with only one directive 'follow Sam, do what Sam says to do'.

"Stand right here while I find the book we need." Sam spoke quietly. They were in a library after all.

Dean stood, swaying. His eyes slid closed all the way.

"Stay awake, Dean. Can you do that for me? Open your eyes." Sam coaxed.

Dean opened his eyes, but they were unfocused, unseeing.

Sam gave him a long measuring look and then turned to the bookshelves. The faster he could find the book and get Dean out of here, the better. Dean was trying, but he wasn't going to last much longer.

The shelves were well organized, the book should be easy to find, but Sam kept turning around to check on Dean. He saw Dean begin to crumple as if it were happening in slow motion. Dean's legs just gave way, refusing to hold his weight any longer. He made a grab for his collapsing brother and managed to catch him in a controlled slide to the floor.

Sam surveyed the room. No one was nearby. No one was watching him sit on the floor with his nearly unconscious brother in his lap. Thank goodness for small favors.

"Dean, you can't go to sleep yet. Come on, stay with me a little longer." Sam rubbed a hand vigorously against Dean's check until his eyes fluttered open. "That's it, we don't need some well meaning soul to call an ambulance, now do we?"

Dean blinked a couple of times and his gaze roamed around the room, resting on nothing. His only response to the urgency in Sam's voice was to roll his head back and forth once against the crook of Sam's elbow.

The book they had come for was on the next to bottom shelf, within easy reach. Sam slipped it into the waistband of his jeans and pulled his shirt out to cover it the rest of the way. They didn't have time to check the book out of the library formally and he could always return it when they had fixed this mess. For now, he needed to get Dean back to the car while drawing the minimum amount of scrutiny.

"See, I told you the crash off that caffeine high was gonna be a bitch."

He used a nearby chair and then a table as props to pull himself and his brother upright. It wasn't graceful, but it was effective.

They made their uncertain, wavering way to the front of the library with Dean's arm draped over Sam's shouder and Sam's arm around Dean's waist. Before they could reach the front door, the kindly libarian intercepted their progress.

"Is he all right? Do you need me to call for help?" Her concerned stare took in Dean's lolling head.

"No, he's OK. He's going to be OK." Sam pulled his brother closer against his side and stepped around her with difficulty, making his escape outside.

Speed was more of a factor than appearances now that they were on their way out of the city. Sam pulled Dean along as quickly as he could, taking all his weight. He kept his head down, not returning any of the stares he was sure were turned their way. The seven blocks back to the Impala were a blur.

He huffed a sigh of relief as they drove out of the city and got back on the highway leading to Norfolk. Sam almost expected the flashing lights of cop cars to pursue them, but either no one had cared that he had stuffed a very limp man into the passenger seat of his car or he had been fast enough to avoid pursuit.

The sun was just getting ready to set, streaks of pink, orange and red decorated the horizon.

Sam debated with himself over the need to wake Dean up, to try to keep him awake for the ride back to the motel. But it was a moot point as Dean was too far gone now. If last night was any example, Dean would be impossible to wake up all night and would awaken in the morning with serveral more months worth of his memories gone, more time lost. At least now he knew what to expect and would be ready for the confusion with some answers and proof to allay his brother's suspicions and fears in the morning.

Feeling isolated and alone in the quiet of the darkening car, Sam pulled Dean over so that his brother's head was in his lap for the four hour drive back.

To be continued

**A/N: Please make my day and review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its wonderful characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke and the CW. I don't own anything and isn't that just pitiful.**

**A/N: OK folks, this is it, the chapter I wrote this entire story for. I actually wrote this chapter first and then came up with the rest of the story to go along with it. Of course by the time I got to this point in the story, my original chapter didn't quite fit and I had to make some revisions. However, the basic content stayed the same. I hope you like it as much as I do.**

**Consumed Memories**

**by Disneymagic**

**Chapter 6 Trust Me**

The empty gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach reminded Sam that they hadn't eaten anything since the fast food lunch they'd grabbed on the way to D. C. At that point Dean had been animated and talking, a far cry from the motionless silent man who now lay across the passenger seat, feet on the floor and head in Sam's lap. Dean wouldn't be waking up to eat tonight and, although he was hungry, Sam didn't want to eat when Dean couldn't. Besides, he needed to get Dean settled in the motel room and start reading the book he had taken from the library.

The motel parking lot was full when Sam pulled in and all the spaces near their room were already taken. Popular place. There must be some kind of event nearby that had caused the motel to fill up.

Sam pulled the car up as close to their room as he could which meant double parking for the time being. He then carefully eased out from underneath his older brother's head and ran to unlock the door and pull the covers back on Dean's bed. He tossed the all-important book on his own bed where it called to him with promises of solutions to the riddles that plagued them. He was anxious to start reading, but he needed to see to Dean first.

It was late enough that the motel parking lot was empty of patrons, everyone else already settled into their rooms for the night.

Sam was struck by how young his brother looked when his face was completely relaxed. Realized that he had rarely seen Dean look so peaceful, even in sleep. The external peace betrayed no hint of the internal assault currently taking place in his brother's head. The thought made Sam want to kill something with his bare hands, but he was infinitely gentle as he bent over to pick Dean up. His arm went under Dean's shoulders and he was careful to make sure that his brother's head was securely resting on his shoulder before gathering Dean's legs under his other arm and lifting with a soft grunt.

Yeah, Dean was a couple of inches shorter than Sam, but he was pure muscle and he was heavy. It would have been a lot easier to pull Dean up over his shoulder and carry him that way, but Sam just didn't have the heart to do it. For one thing, carrying someone over the shoulder felt like carrying a bag or a sack, not like carrying a person. It almost felt like an insult. For another thing, it was a lot harder on the person being carried and Dean had been through the ringer today as it was.

He set Dean carefully on the bed and removed his boots, jeans and both shirts before pulling the blankets up around his chin.

Sam watched as Dean slept and wondered again at the youthfulness radiating from him. Gone were the hard edge to his jaw and the stress lines from his forehead that never seemed to leave his face these days. Even when Dean was joking around, his tough life experiences were always visible in the plains and angles that characterized his features.

An uneasy feeling began to worm its way up through his gut because the years seemed to have melted off his brother. What if Dean was losing years worth of memories instead of just months this time? _No, it must just be my imagination running away with me. _Sam dismissed the thought. It had only been a couple of months last night. No reason to believe it would be more tonight.

A couple of months was difficult enough because that would be right around the time Dean had come to get him from Stanford. Depending on whether he remembered coming to Stanford or not, Sam would have to use different strategies to convince him of what was happening. The trick was in knowing what Dean's most recent memories were going to be. Of course, Sam wouldn't know that for sure until Dean woke up.

With an apprehensive sigh, Sam turned to scan the room, trying to see it as his disoriented brother might perceive it in the morning. He picked up anything that might appear threatening and put it all out of sight in one of the drawers.

Although it had been a long day and the book lying on his bed continued to demand his attention, Sam began to think longingly of a hot shower. He was loath to leave Dean unsupervised, but since he hadn't moved at all during the four hour drive from D. C., he should be all right for the ten minutes Sam would need for a quick shower.

The shower felt fantastic, but thoughts of Dean waking up in confusion caused Sam to make it out of the bathroom in record time. With his towel wrapped around his waist, he exited the bathroom, his eyes going to Dean's bed immediately. There had been no need to worry. Dean was in the exact same position as when Sam had tucked him in.

Sam toweled dry and hurried into some clean boxers and his sweatpants.

A knock on the door nearly gave him a heart attack. Before going to the door, Sam grabbed a knife out of the drawer and tucked in into the waistband of his pants, flat against his back. He looked cautiously through the peep hole. _Crap, it's the motel manager_.

He opened the door a couple of inches and spoke through the slight opening. "Yes? Is something wrong?"

"Is that your car double parked there?" The manager indicated the Impala.

"Shoot, sorry about that. I meant to move it once we got all our luggage in the room and I completely forgot. I'll do it right now." Sam rushed to explain. _Of all the idiotic things to do. How could I have forgotten to move the car?_

"See that you do." The manager grumbled as he turned to go back to his office.

Still berating himself for his forgetfulness, Sam grabbed the keys and rushed outside to move the car. There were only a few parking spaces left and they were around at the back of the motel. Sam got the car parked and ran all the way back to the room. His mind was conjuring all types of scenarios in which Dean was awake in a panic and he wasn't there to explain and calm him down.

Dean was still asleep on the bed when Sam burst through the motel room door. _Jeez, get a grip. _He sat down on the edge of Dean's bed and leaned over until his forehead was pressed to his brother's, needing the physical contact.

"We gotta get you out of this mess before I start losing it." Sam confided softly.

Speaking of which, the book that had to contain the answers was still lying on his bed. Sam picked it up and settled onto his bed, leaning his back on the headboard.

After an hour of reading, the words were blurring together on the page. Sam read and re-read the same sentences, not gleaning any meaning from them. He was tired. This wasn't getting him anywhere. Since he'd had only two or three hours of sleep the night before, he was running on empty. He just needed a little bit of sleep and then he could hit the book hard tomorrow, get the information they needed, and take care of whatever was hurting his brother.

The clock on the bedside table said 1:00AM. Sam got up and checked on Dean, still breathing, heart rate strong, not moving. Then he got into his own bed, set the alarm for 3:00AM, deciding on a two hour schedule for checking on his brother, and immediately fell asleep.

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Dean woke up in a panic. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was having trouble catching his breath. _What the hell!_ He searched his sleep shrouded thoughts for what could possibly have caused this full blown panic attack and came up empty. He didn't remember having a nightmare or hearing a noise that would have woken him up.

As he scanned the dark room for a clue to his distress, he realized that nothing looked familiar. He could tell he was in a motel room by the layout, large room with two full sized beds, a TV on a dresser against the wall opposite the beds, one door, one window, and an alcove on the other side where a sink and the door to the bathroom were barely visible in the gloom. The clock on the bedside table said 3:37AM. _OK, being in a motel room, not unusual. _But this room was not the one he remembered checking into.

His feeling of unease grew. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. The sense of wrongness was like a physical presence, pressing down on his chest and making it even more difficult to breathe. _Get a grip, you're going to hyperventilate and pass out. Slow breaths…in…out…in…out. That's better._

His thoughts were swirling around. He couldn't make sense of them. _Dad can tell me what's going on_. As soon as the idea hit him, Dean sat up in his bed and almost called out for his Dad before he remembered that his Dad wasn't on this hunt with him. Dad had sent him to Ohio on a solo hunt.

The months following Sam's departure for Stanford had been tense to put it mildly. Dad had been distant and Dean had been uncharacteristically moody.

Dad had seemed relieved to have two possible hunts come up at the same time. The perfect opportunity to put some distance between himself and his brooding son, the brooding reminding him too clearly of the son who had deserted them.

He had sent Dean to investigate reports of an entire family who had gone missing from their farm outside Ashland, Ohio. Relatives were distraught by the disappearance of the young couple and their two little girls. Dean had finished the preliminary research and had been planning a visit out to the farm that day. _So why was he now in this strange motel room? Could it be related to the case?_

A slight movement on the other bed caught his attention and he turned to see who he was sharing this room with. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could just make out a long shape with dark hair, one lean muscular arm on top of the covers, face turned away from him. The deep breathing let him know the other man was sleeping. Dean racked his brain for who the man could be and was disturbed to find that nothing was clicking.

Sam was at college and Dad was in Indiana looking into a possible haunting in an old theater that was being renovated. There shouldn't be anyone sharing a room with him. He was supposed to be alone.

And how wrong was that, because he hated being alone.

Not only was his mind playing tricks on him, but he didn't feel real good either. The room was doing lazy loops around him and his eyes felt gritty, like he'd been at the beach and had sand blown in his face. Everything was blurry, his vision, his thoughts, even his movements were uncoordinated.

Maybe he wasn't at the top of his game, but Dean could still put two and two together. He took quick stock of his situation and performed a self assessment. _Memory's all shot to hell, feelings of unease and panic, and the room's spinning around. Add all that up and it sounds like…drugs. I've been taking drugs or…someone has been drugging me. _Dean's eyes shifted back to the unknown man in the other bed.

He silently moved his feet and legs over the side of his bed and stood up, swaying as a wave of vertigo almost toppled him. He noted the trembling of his arms and legs and decided to add extreme fatigue to his list of symptoms. _Great, just fucking great._

The need to 'get out' ramped up inside him. He couldn't fight off an assailant right now, so he needed to get away. Find someplace to hole up until he could figure this out. He needed his mind to stop jumping around and let him think, just for a couple of minutes.

Watching the form on the other bed for any signs of movement, he gathered the clothes that were draped on his bed, assuming they belonged to him since he only had boxers on, and moved closer to the motel room door. Luckily, that direction was also away from the other bed and the man still asleep in it. He took a few moments to pull the clothes on and they fit. Another lucky break.

Opening the door as quietly as possible, Dean slid through and out to the dark parking lot of the motel. Just as quietly, he pulled the door closed behind him. Now that he was outside, he had no idea where to go, he just wanted to get away from here. Running was out as he just didn't have the energy, so he began walking toward the nearest corner of the motel where he could make a quick turn and be out of sight of the motel room, just in case the stranger woke up and came looking for him.

His next move had to be to find a place where he could lay low and it had to be close by. He scanned the area, looking for the best possible cover.

Across the street from the motel was a small strip mall. No where to hide there. Further down was a gas station. Too well lit. Beyond that was a building in the process of construction. There were enough walls up to provide concealment, but enough open spaces to allow for a quick get away if the need arose. He didn't want to get boxed in somewhere with no possible escape.

That would work.

He was troubled by how difficult walking was. His arms and legs were heavy with exhaustion. Every step was a major effort. Painstakingly, he made his way to his chosen sanctuary.

There was a space in the back of the building frame where all four walls were up and two of them had openings for doors to be installed later. Dean staggered into the hollow space and sat down with his back pressed up against a wall, facing the door frame on the opposite side.

Thoughts were reeling around in his brain. He needed to rein them in, take control. Nothing was making any sense. He felt the panic begin to swamp him again as thought like 'danger', 'run', and 'fight' all galloped through his head. His breath was exploding out of him in short bursts. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and covered them with his hands, willing his mind to stop its chaotic swirling.

One thing, and only one, seemed perfectly clear, he was alone. That thought, among all the others, continued to surface.

He had dedicated his life to taking care of his family. Put his brother's and his Dad's needs above his own time and time again. Defined himself in terms of his family's well being. Without them nearby he felt lost, without purpose, set adrift on a vast ocean with no paddle and no compass.

His thoughts became hazier and pure instinct took over. _Danger, run, fight_. His nerve endings hummed in anticipation.

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The alarm went off at 5:00AM right on schedule.

The 3:00AM brother check had been quick and uneventful. Dean was still asleep, breathing, heart beating, not moving. Sam had blearily reset the alarm for two more hours and, turning over to face the wall, succumbed to exhaustion.

When the alarm went off the second time, Sam rolled over, his gaze automatically going to the other bed. The bed appeared to be empty. He squinted and looked harder, sure that his sleep filled eyes must not be working right. Still empty. _Nononononononono_.

"Dean!"

Sam jumped out of bed and looked frantically around the room. Dean wasn't there. He wasn't in the bathroom. He wasn't under the beds or in the small closet. _Shit, how can this have happened? How could I have let this happen?_

Dean's clothes were gone, but nothing else was missing. His brother was outside somewhere with nothing but the clothes on his back, and no idea what was going on. Dean had left without even trying to talk to him and Sam didn't want to contemplate the implications of that.

Pulling on his own clothes as quickly as possible, Sam jerked the motel door open and skimmed the immediate area for any signs of his brother. Nothing.

Well, Dean was probably on foot and, if yesterday was any indication, he wouldn't be moving very fast or very far.

Sam closed his eyes and began to imagine what Dean would do given his current condition. Dean would be confused and possibly scared. He would go to ground somewhere nearby. With his new found insight Sam opened his eyes and looked at the area surrounding the motel again. His gaze raked the strip mall, the gas station, and the construction site. _Gotcha, Bro! _At a dead run, Sam took off for the construction site.

As soon as he got close enough Sam began calling out. The last thing he wanted to do was to somehow sneak up on his brother, as if that was even possible given Dean's sharp hunter senses. If it even looked like he was trying to be sneaky he would ruin his chances of gaining trust. "Dean! It's me...Sam."

He moved through the shell of the building rapidly, checking each corner and blind turn. "Dean! Come out so I can talk to you. Please!"

Every second that passed without bringing his brother into view was twisting his gut tighter and tighter. If Dean wasn't here then Sam wasn't sure where he would have gone. He could have gotten into a car and be miles away from here by now.

The faint shuffling sound was his first clue that he was on the right track. It came from the back of the building lay out.

The sight that meet his eyes as he entered the space threatened to tear open his heart. There was Dean, standing with an open door frame at his back, a fist sized rock in his hand. The rock being the only weapon available.

He knew he shouldn't be unhappy that a rock was the best weapon Dean could find to use against him, but it spoke so clearly to Dean's frame of mind. The unfocused eyes glaring at him without an ounce of recognition confirmed his fears.

Unable to reason things out, Dean had given himself over to survival instinct. The open space at his back provided an avenue of escape, but Dean was ready to fight with everything he had left in him before he took that route.

"Dean, you can put that rock down, man. I'm here to help you." Sam spoke soothingly and held his hands out at his sides. _See, no weapons._

"Stay the fuck away from me." The command was meant to be threatening, but there wasn't enough force behind it to make the threat believable.

"Hey, hey Dean, I know things are messed up, but I can explain. Will you let me explain?" Sam took another step forward. If he could just get close enough, he was pretty sure he would be able to get through to his older brother.

With a growl that sounded like it came from a wild animal, Dean launched himself at Sam and brought the rock around in an arc aimed for Sam's head.

Sam easily dodged the rock, sidestepped Dean's lunge, and grabbed his brother around the middle, twisting him around so that Dean's back was against his chest and Dean's arms were pinned at his sides. All plans for reasoning with his brother went out the window.

"I don't want to hurt you, Dean. You're not up for sparring." Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's chest and arms just firmly enough to keep him from squirming free, but not tightly enough to cause any damage.

But Dean wasn't ready to give up. He braced himself against Sam's arms and leaned forward slightly before slamming his head backwards towards Sam's face. Sam saw the move coming well ahead of time. It was a classic and he'd been anticipating it. Sam leaned to the side and Dean's head smashed harmlessly into his shoulder.

"You need to stop. You're just going to wear yourself out." He really had no hope of being able to talk Dean into submission. As much as he hated doing it, there was nothing left but to continue to hold on until Dean was unable to continue fighting.

Dean was like a cornered and injured cougar, thrashing and straining against Sam's confining arms.

Sam felt his resolve slipping. It was just so painful to be the one causing this level of suffering in anyone let alone his own brother, the one person who always looked out for him.

"Please, don't make me do this, Dean. I'm trying to help you."

The struggling didn't waver. Dean may not have even heard him for all the response he got. His brother would never back down, never give in, not until he had nothing left in him. Sam expected no less.

When the writhing, kicking, and grunting did finally cease, Sam was just as emotionally drained as Dean was physically and mentally.

Dean's head rolled forward, his shoulders slumped and he didn't even try to support any of his own weight. He was completely spent.

"You don't ever do anything halfway, do you?" Sam whispered sadly.

As gently as he could, Sam lowered them both to the ground, continuing to hold his brother and support his back.

Dean had stopped fighting because he couldn't continue, not because there was any trust. Sam still had to earn trust, but he thought he knew how to do it.

Repositioning Dean so that his head was resting on Sam's shoulder and Sam had the use of both his hands, he took hold of one of Dean's hands and held it palm side up. Then with his index finger, Sam began to trace the most complicated protection sigil he knew onto Dean's open palm. Once he finished that one he started on another rune.

The patterns weren't meant to magically seal or protect anything, not in this case. Their purpose was to identify him as Sam, Dean's little brother. This was the way that toddler Sammy had learned to make the symbols years ago, with Dean as his patient teacher. Hours had been spent practicing the sigils on each others palms until they were picture perfect. As adults, the patterns were still used to sooth and comfort.

By the time he got to the third sigil he was beginning to think it wasn't going to work. But then...

"Sammy?" The word was no more than an exhale.

"Yeah, Dean. I'm here." Sam moved his hand to rub along Dean's cheek and jaw. Dean leaned into the contact and Sam knew in that moment he had his brother back.

"Let's get you back to the motel room."

"Are ya leavn', Sam? Are ya leavn' me, Sammy?" Dean was slurring. He sounded like a tired five year old.

Sam's heart constricted tightly. He shifted Dean's head so that it was resting further down on his arm. He needed to be able to look into his brother's eyes, needed Dean to see the truth in his. "I'm not leaving you. I'm taking you with me. Trust me, Dean."

"'Kay, Sammy."

To be continued

**A/N: If I lost you with the sigil tracing on Dean's palm, you can read my short fic called Calming Technique. You'll find more information on the background there.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its wonderful characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke and the CW. I don't own anything and isn't that just pitiful.**

**A/N: A huge, gigantic thank you to everyone reading, reviewing, and alerting this story. This was going to be the last chapter, but it got too long and instead of trying to fit everything into one chapter, I split it into two.**

**Consumed Memories**

**by Disneymagic**

**Chapter 7 Please Stop, Sammy**

The early morning sun cast a slight blush of color over the eastern horizon as the young hunters made their shambling way back to the motel room. Sam half carried half dragged his brother along with one hand fisted in the front of Dean's shirt and the other arm around his waist, long fingers twined through a belt loop to provide leverage. Dean slung one arm over Sam's shoulders and leaned heavily upon his younger brother. He tried to help, but really only managed to hinder forward progress by tripping over his feet with every other step.

Commuters were already on the road leading past their motel. Sam silently urged them to 'move along, nothing to see here'.

Once back at the motel room, Sam guided Dean over to one of the beds and had him sit on the edge. Sam sat on the other bed with his elbows on his knees, facing his brother and wondering what to say to him. What would he be able to understand, what would be too much, what would not be enough? Where to even begin was a daunting question.

Dean sat heavy lidded, watching Sam, but asking no questions, his face devoid of curiosity or any other emotion.

The silence stretch on as Sam waged his internal debate, until Dean's gaze began to drift to a point just over his younger brother's right shoulder.

"Hey, Dean, over here, man. Stay with me, OK?" Sam swept his hand lightly over Dean's knee and used the tips of his fingers to scratch at the denim to get his brother's attention.

A non-committal grunt was the only answer he got, but Dean redirected his focus back to Sam's face.

Since Dean didn't seem to be worried about getting an explanation for where he was and why he couldn't remember, Sam decided to begin asking his own questions.

"Why did you leave the motel room?" Sam asked, keeping his face carefully neutral.

"'M sorry." Dean licked his bottom lip and shifted back on the bed, putting a little more distance between himself and Sam, and it was clear that he was uncertain about Sam's reaction.

"No, no, it's all right. I just want to know so we can keep it from happening again. We need to make sure that doesn't happen again, right?" Sam smiled reassuringly as his stomach clenched at the raw vulnerability in Dean's eyes.

"I don' remember." Dean's husky voice took on a far away quality as if he was talking in his sleep.

A band made of barbed wire began to tighten around Sam's chest because Dean didn't remember why he had left the room less than a couple of hours ago and he hadn't been asleep during that time as far as Sam knew. _Did that mean Dean was losing memory all the time now, awake or asleep?_

"Dean, how do you feel? What's happening with you?"

After a slight pause Dean replied, "Umm, feels like dan'elions."

"Dandelions?" Sam looked sharply into his big brother's eyes, watching for any sign that Dean was more lucid than he seemed, but he saw no glint of amusement, no signal that he was being baited by his older sibling.

"Yeah, th' white, 'luffy par'."

When Dean made no effort to elaborate, Sam prodded, "I need more to go on than that. How is it like the white fluffy part of a dandelion?"

"Ya know, when th' wind blows, th' lil white par's fly in all diffren' dire'tions and ya can't cetch'em all no matter how hard ya try." Dean's dreamy voice continued.

"Riight." Sam was trying hard to make some kind of sense from his brother's ramblings.

"Well, i's a tornado in m' head, Sammy."

_Christ!_ No wonder Dean couldn't remember. No wonder he was so distant. It must be like watching the movie of his life playing backwards and not being able to stop the film, with the snippets of film he had just watched destroyed along the way.

"Listen to me, Dean. You can't hold on to all of them...all your memories. I get that. But can you hold onto one? I need you to hold onto me...the memory of me, as I am right now. That way, no matter what else happens...no matter what else you forget, I'll be a constant for you."

Dean's head bobbed slowly up and down before coming to a rest against his chest. "'M tired." He began to list forward.

Sam moved in closer and grasped Dean's biceps, giving him a little shake. "I know you're tired, but don't go to sleep. How about a shower instead, huh? Might revive you a bit. Think you can stand?"

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Dean had been in the shower for about fifteen minutes and Sam was trying to read about Stalkers and their Egyptian victims. The plain brown, hard-covered book was proving to be a wealth of knowledge, however, Sam was having a hard time concentrating.

_Are ya leavn', Sam? Are ya leavn' me, Sammy?_

His brother's words, spoken in that little boy voice, were playing over and over in his mind like a tape recording that someone kept hitting the rewind button on.

The sentiment behind them was heart wrenching, especially knowing they came from a place normally buried deep and hidden behind walls of iron.

Dean's walls were crumbling, all those layers of defenses that had been built up over a lifetime were being striped away. _Isn't this what I've always wished for? A chance to get inside and really see what makes my brother tick._ Now that it was happening, Sam felt like an intruder in some ways, trespassing in a private temple. The barriers had been carefully erected for a purpose and he knew how important they were to his older brother. Dean would do just about anything to preserve them. But in other ways he couldn't help but feel as though this might end up being a blessing in disguise. Maybe, if he could see the broken pieces inside his big brother, he could fix them. Sam was a huge proponent of healing by talking things out, sharing the burden, and he wanted to share Dean's.

Sam glanced nervously at the closed bathroom door, twenty minutes now. Suggesting that Dean take a shower may have been a mistake. Putting the book down with the pages tented on the table in front of him to save his place, Sam eased up from his chair to stand next to the bathroom door. The water falling in the shower blocked any other sounds.

"Dean, you OK in there?" He couldn't help but wince as the words passed his lips. A question like that would normally have received a caustic, sneering retort or a playful jibe depending on his brother's mood. This time, there was no reply at all.

The door was unlocked, he'd made sure of that before Dean had disappeared behind it. Now he pushed it open tentatively and peeked inside. "Dean?"

Dean was standing with a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping down his face and the back of his neck from his wet hair. His wore a look of intense concentration as he stared at his reflection in the mirror which took up the entire wall behind the bathroom sink.

"Sammy, how old am I?" Dean squinted at himself.

It hadn't escaped Sam's attention that Dean had exclusively used his nick name to address him ever since the traumatic events of this morning. He assumed it had something to do with the familiarity of the pet name that was soothing to Dean when nothing else was familiar to him.

"How old do you think you are?" Sam wasn't trying to be cute or annoying. He honestly wanted to know in light of their previous conversation.

"Twenty." Dean spoke without taking his attention from the mirror.

Sam's heart skipped a beat as he quickly did some math in his head. That was six years lost. How much of that had been while Dean was asleep last night and how much had been this morning from the time he woke up? The time table for getting this taken care of had just become more urgent.

"Twenty six...you're twenty six." Sam moved around Dean to turn off the water still running in the shower.

Dean nodded matter-of-factly at Sam and went back to studying his likeness in the mirror. He ran a hand through his wet hair and then traced a scar along his shoulder.

The way that Dean was calmly taking this news in his stride almost made Sam want to laugh...almost. Because if someone told him that he didn't remember six years of his experiences, six year of his life, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be as calm. At least Dean didn't look sleepy anymore. The shower must have helped.

"How do you feel?"

"Hungry. Is there anything to eat?" Dean put a hand flat against his belly.

"I bet you are. We haven't eaten since yesterday's lunch. There's nothing in the motel room, but we can go out and get something in a while. Just let me do a little more reading before we go." Denying his brother food went against all the new 'I'll take care of you' impulses inside of him, but just as strong was the imagined clock ticking down the minutes until Dean was all out of memories and consequently all out of time.

Once Dean had dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, they settled down in two chairs, sitting opposite one another at the small table. Sam picked up the book and began reading from where he'd left off. There was a detailed account from a man whose experience paralleled Dean's. As he read, Sam's hands began to shake, the blood drained from his face, and spots danced in front of his eyes. He frantically shuffled through the pages, scanning them briefly and then flipping back to the most relevant passages to read them again.

_It was his fault._ Everything that had happened to Dean was his fault. He could have stopped it all so easily if he had just known. His research, the little of it he had done before the hunt, had been wrong. The Stalker had been feeding off his brother for days and it was all his fault.

Sam looked up guiltily and meet Dean's worried gaze. Dean was shifting uneasily in his chair and pulling at his bottom lip all the while staring at Sam with unbroken concentration.

"What's wrong, Sammy?"

He realized that Dean was doing just what he'd told him to do. His brother was using him as the one constant, firm, and reliable thing in his shifting, kaleidoscope of a world. Dean's sole focus was on Sam and since he was unable to judge for himself the appropriate emotion for the current situation, he was using Sam as a gauge. If Sam was calm, then Dean knew there was nothing to be concerned about and he was relaxed. If Sam was upset, then Dean was agitated without really knowing why. So right now, he was freaking the hell out of his big brother and he needed to pull himself together.

The complications of living life in reverse were mind-boggling. He constantly had to force himself to think about how the situation must feel for Dean. It didn't come naturally to him.

Drawing a deep cleansing breath he said, "It's OK. I found what I was looking for."

Sam surmised that Dean wasn't processing new information. Anything he saw, heard, or otherwise learned presently he might retain for a short period, but then it was swept away in the tornado that occupied his mind. Even with that knowledge, Sam felt the need to purge his conscious by explaining just how badly he'd screwed up. So, even though Dean wouldn't remember, he began his confession.

"The thing that's messing with your memories...the Stalker, I didn't kill it. I thought I did, but I just disrupted it's physical manifestation." He paused, waiting for Dean to ask a question or tell him he was an idiot, but his brother just nodded thoughtfully, a small frown creasing his brow.

Sam continued. "The Stalker is really more of a ...thought form, but it uses a physical manifestation to create a bond with its victims. Once the link is in place, the physical form is no longer necessary to continue the connection. It's been feeding off you, drawing on your energy and memories to become stronger and stronger." Sam stopped again to see what effect his admission was having.

"What happens when it gets stronger." Dean's low baritone sounded curious, but not particularly concerned.

"The stronger it gets, the faster it can drain you. In the final stages you won't be tired anymore 'cause the Stalker will be strong enough to take your memories without your being asleep. We have to break the bond between you and it and then find and burn its nest. The book explains the ritual we have to do to sever the bond. I'm so sorry, Dean. I didn't know until I read that book. I didn't realize the connection hadn't been severed. This whole thing is my fault." Sam's voice cracked at the end and he gazed into his brother's eyes, looking for the condemnation and recrimination he knew he deserved.

"It's not your fault, Sammy. You didn't know."

Dean had no memory of the Stalker or any of the events leading up to the hunt, but he had faith in Sam and the proof of that faith was awe inspiring. Sam felt a warmth suffuse his entire body at the idea that someone could love him so unconditionally.

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The ritual wasn't difficult to perform, as far as rituals went, and the ingredients were commonplace, but Sam's hands began to sweat every time he thought about it. There were three parts to the rite and it was the first part that was causing Sam's discomfort.

During the first part of the ritual, a series of symbols had to be drawn on Dean's forehead in his own blood. OK, normally that would be no big deal. Dean had shed his own blood for less important reasons and they would only need a small amount.

The problem was that Dean's memories were visibly vanishing at a rapid pace now, leaving him in a younger and younger frame of mind, and Sam worried about how Dean would cope with a blood letting without the memories of similar experiences from his past. Also, with the pace of memory loss getting faster all the time it was impossible to know just where Dean was going to be age-wise by the time they were ready to perform the rite.

During the second part of the ritual, Dean had to drink an herbal tea made of herbs that were commonly grown in Egypt. Luckily, they were also easily found in any natural remedies store and many grocery stores as well. The concoction contained crushed spearmint leaves, chamomile and ground anise seeds. At least that part shouldn't be too bad.

During the third part of the ritual, Sam had to recite an ancient Egyptian prayer. The prayer was in the book and Sam could easily research the pronunciation and practice until he was able to complete the entire liturgy with no mistakes.

He needed to hurry to prepare for the ritual. It all had to be done in quick succession, but it also had to be done correctly on the first try. There wouldn't be time for a second try, not at the rate Dean was regressing.

Sam purposefully refrained from asking Dean how old he thought he was while they were out getting the ingredients for the tea and grabbing a quick bite to eat because he didn't want to bring the discrepancy between his real age and his memory age to Dean's attention again. He just wasn't sure that Dean would be as accepting as he had been earlier with the gap becoming larger and larger. By watching his brother's mannerisms, speech patterns and phrases, he estimated that Dean was mentally fourteen or fifteen.

By the time Sam had the pronunciation for the prayer memorized, Dean was acting like a nine or ten year old and Sam was nearly in tears over what he was about to do, because how in the hell was he going to explain this ritual to his brother as a little kid? He may look the same on the outside, but inside Dean had never even been on a hunt before.

There wasn't any other solution in the book and there wasn't time to do anything else anyway. It was either this or Dean was going to die and that was not an option. Sam needed to suck it up and act like the big brother he now officially was. He needed to do what was in Dean's best interests even if it hurt them both.

The book said Dean's memory loss would be temporarily slowed as soon as the ritual began. That would at least make it easier to have a full conversation with his brother instead of the partial conversations they had been having, Dean forgetting the beginning before they could get to the end. But the memory loss wouldn't be completely halted until the ceremony was finished and the connection to the Stalker was broken.

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Dean was sitting on the floor and Sammy was there next to him. He knew it was Sammy even though the Sammy next to him was big and old, probably as old as Daddy. There was an image of this Sammy firmly etched in his mind and that's how he knew who it was. It was weird 'cause his Sammy was only three years old, but it felt right somehow, to trust this Sammy. The feeling was so strong that he believed it without a shadow of a doubt.

They were in a motel room, but not one he recognized. Daddy wasn't there, unless he was hiding. Daddy didn't play games like hide and seek much anymore so he'd probably gone out for a little while which meant that he was in charge. Whenever Daddy left he always said 'Dean, you're in charge. Take care of Sammy for me.'

There was a small hot plate on the floor next to Sammy with a mug on it and a bag of what looked like crushed leaves. There was also a knife, a small bowl, and a book.

Sammy looked scared and sad which made Dean scared and sad too.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sammy's eyelashes were wet with unshed tears and his chin trembled slightly.

He'd never been able to bear that look of dejection on his little brother's face. This big Sammy had the same puppy dog eyes, round and misty, as his Sammy. Besides, what could Sammy possibly have done to be all that sorry for. The worst thing Dean can ever remember Sammy doing was accidentally ripping up one of his comic books. He'd been mad about that for all of five minutes and then had forgiven him when Sammy brought him a picture he'd colored himself to try to make up for the loss.

He scooted over closer and put his arm around Sammy's shoulders like he'd done countless times before. "It's OK, Sammy. Don't worry."

He didn't know what he was telling Sammy not to worry about, but it didn't really matter. Sammy shouldn't have to worry about anything, not while he was around.

A tear rolled down Sammy's cheek as he turned his face away to stare at the knife lying beside him.

"Dean, we have to...I need you to..." Sammy gulped in some air and tried again. "Dean, this is really important and I know you won't understand it, but I have to...God this is hard!" Sammy broke off what he was trying to say and picked up the knife, twisting it absently in his hands as if it would help him to think of the right words.

The sight of Sammy holding a knife was just all kinds of wrong because Dean could see the grown up Sammy, but his mind was also telling him that the grown up Sammy and his three year old Sammy were the same person and three year old Sammy shouldn't be holding a knife.

"Give me that knife, Sammy. You're gonna hurt yourself." Dean said in his most authoritative voice, the one he had learned from Daddy.

Sammy continued to hold onto the knife, but he stopped twirling it through his fingers.

"You trust me, right Dean?"

What kinda question was that, of course he trusted Sammy. Always had and always would. Sammy was his little brother, his family. Daddy always said that family was more important than anything.

"Sure I do, Sammy." He moved around so that he was sitting in front of Sammy and could see his face more clearly.

"I need some of your blood, not a lot, it's gonna hurt, but I'll be as careful as I can." The words came out in a rush, as though Sammy wanted to say them before he chickened out. And no wonder, it was the strangest thing Dean had ever heard.

"What in the world are you talking about?" Dean's frown deepened, but he maintained eye contact with his brother.

"Please, Dean, please. Don't make this any harder. I don't want to have to force you." The last part was said so quietly that Dean could barely make it out.

He wanted to help, but he was beginning to feel a little bit afraid of this big Sammy. Well, not afraid of Sammy so much as afraid of what was upsetting Sammy. He loved his little brother and he knew that his little brother loved him, but this was like nothing he had ever dealt with before. Sammy crawling into bed with him after a nightmare he could handle. Sammy crying because he didn't want Dean to go to school without him he knew what to do about. But this was a new one.

"OK." He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

Sammy let out a pent up burst of air and gave Dean a look of admiration. "You're a brave kid, Dean."

The compliment made Dean flash a heartfelt smile.

"Close your eyes, it'll be easier that way." Big Sammy instructed.

Dean complied, scrunching his eyes tightly closed and holding his breath when he felt Sammy take a hold of his arm.

"Owwww." The pain was sharp and intense, making his eyes fly open. Dean sucked his cheeks in and tried to snatch his arm back to nurse his injury, but Sammy wouldn't let go. "Let go Sammy, it hurts."

He wasn't sure what he had expected it to feel like, but this was way worse. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, Sammy had been pretending, wouldn't really use the knife to cut his arm. Tears began to gather in his eyes and course down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Dean. Just let me hold onto it for a second and then we'll get you patched up." Sammy's grip on his arm was firm, but gentle.

Dean watched as Sammy held his bleeding arm over the small bowl to let the dripping blood collect inside.

"You did really good. I'm so proud of you, kiddo." Sammy spoke while pressing a towel against the cut on his arm which turned out to be shallow for all the pain it had caused. Within moments it had stopped bleeding.

Wiping his wet face with the back of his hand, Dean tried to plaster his big brother mask back on.

"That was the hard part. The rest is gonna be easy. I just have to paint some symbols on your forehead and then you get to drink some tea before I say a prayer. Nothing to it." Sam looked over as if asking his permission to continue.

"What are we doing, Sammy?" Dean's wasn't sure whether he should be amused or worried about this strange game his little brother had come up with.

"I'll tell you as soon as we're done. I promise."

Dean's eyes narrowed and then widened dramatically when Sammy lifted the bowl of blood onto his lap and consulted the book next to him before cupping a hand around the back of his neck to hold him steady and dipping a finger into the blood.

Rearing back out of Sammy's loose grasp, Dean said, "You're not putting that blood on my forehead, Sammy. What's wrong with you?"

"Come on, it'll be over before you know it and then I'll let you in on the secret." Sammy gave him a sly look.

Dean couldn't resist the lure of a secret. "Fine." He grumbled and moved back into position.

It didn't take long for Sammy to finish with the symbols and then he held out the mug of steaming liquid.

"Drink this as fast as you can. I'll time you." Sammy waited until Dean had accepted the mug and then looked expectantly at his watch.

That sounded like a challenge and Dean couldn't refuse a challenge. He drank the liquid in five large gulps even though it scorched his throat going down. With a triumphant smile, he handed the mug back to big Sammy.

"How fast was that?" He asked.

"Wow, world record speed!" Sammy replied with a matching smile. "Now you stay right there while I say a prayer."

If you left out the knife and the blood, this game was kinda fun, in a very strange way. Dean stayed where he was and watched as Sammy turned a couple of pages in his book and began reading out loud.

The words Sammy was saying didn't sound like anything Dean had ever heard before. He knew some Latin and they were definitely not Latin. The fine hairs on the back of his neck and arms began to stand on end and he felt a building pressure surround him. There was a harsh crackling sound in his ears. He lifted his hands up to cover his ears and looked at Sammy in confusion.

"Sammy, what's happening?"

He wanted Sammy to stop saying the strange words, but even though Sammy's brow furrowed, he continued reading the unknown language.

The pain hit him out of the blue and rocked him backwards, slamming him to the ground. It was so sudden and so ferocious that he didn't even have time to cry out before he was totally enveloped in a world of anguish. His mouth opened in a silent scream of terror.

Sammy was doing this to him. He knew the words Sammy was saying and the pain were connected somehow. _Why was Sammy hurting him?_

There was no focal point to the pain, no one spot that hurt any more or less than any other. His entire body was burning, he could feel the flames licking every surface inside and out. It stole the air from his lungs, making it impossible for him to breathe.

Slowly the flames receded and he was able to draw in a shuddering breath. He opened eyes he didn't remember closing and searched his field of vision for Sammy, finding him close by, both hands reaching out towards him, a look of abject horror on his face.

"Why, Sammy?" The words barely had time to drift through his throbbing lips when the second round of excruciating pain closed in on him.

His back and neck arched off the floor. His arms and legs began to spasm. Every twitch of every muscle was pure agony, and he couldn't draw a breath in to plead for it to stop. He began a soundless litany in his head. 'Please stop, Sammy! Daddy, help me! Please stop, Sammy!' Time had no meaning for him, there was only endless, unrelenting pain. It cocooned him in misery and bathed him in torment.

To be continued.

**A/N: Just one more chapter to go. **

**Reviews would be the absolutely best Christmas present ever!!! Hint, Hint.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its wonderful characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke and the CW. I don't own anything and isn't that just pitiful.**

**A/N1: Happy New Year!**

**This story has been an adventure for me to write, so thanks for coming along with me, you made the experience highly enjoyable. This is the last chapter. It's time to get Dean out of this mess, but not before we throw a bit more trauma at him. This chapter backs things up a bit to tell the ritual from Sam's POV.**

**Consumed Memories**

**by Disneymagic**

**Chapter 8 You're an Awesome Big Brother**

Sam settled the book on his knee to begin reading the prayer, the worn pages almost velvety under his fingers.

Before he began he glanced up at Dean, meeting his eyes and raising his eyebrows in a question, _you ready?_ He received a tentative smile in return. Dean had taken this whole ritual much better than Sam could have ever hoped. His older brother had the heart of a protector and a warrior even at the tender age of seven.

The inspiration for making the ritual into a game had come from childhood memories of two bored boys stuck in various motels and apartments without many toys. They'd made their own fun by challenging each other to see who could hop up and down the stairs the fastest or who could dribble a ball the longest. Any kind of challenge that could be thrown down by one had been quickly picked up by the other, sibling rivalry at its best. Sam gave himself a mental congratulatory pat on the back for coming up with the idea on the fly.

As soon as he started reading, a smell like that of burning ozone assaulted his nose. The smell quickly overrode the herbal scent in the confined space of the motel room. Sam extended his senses outward, trying to determine if there was a threat associated with the smell. Even as he did so, he continued to read the prayer. He was so close to finishing the ritual, so much was riding on his successful completion of just a few more lines.

Although he didn't hear anything, he saw Dean's hands go to his ears and he heard the frightened, "Sammy, what's happening?" His attention skipped for a beat and then settled back on the book he held in front of him. Dean was OK and he literally had only two more lines to read.

That's when his brother was thrown backwards onto the ground by an unseen force. _No fucking way!_ Sam dropped the book and made a grab for Dean's leg, the closest part he could reach. Before he could touch the denim clad extremity, his hand was stopped by a shimmery, sheer substance pulsing all around his brother.

Dean's eyelids were scrunched tightly together, his eyelashes hidden in the creases created by the expression. The tense lines around his forehead spoke of acute pain even though no sound escaped his open mouth. The tight way he held his body gave the impression of paralysis and Sam couldn't even see his chest rising with the intake of air.

Sam's mind was racing, desperately seeking answers even as he cataloged Dean's symptoms. The vaporous material covering every inch of Dean's body was deceptive in its solidity. It throbbed in time to a mysterious cadence all its own. Sam was reminded of the way the Stalker had dissipated after he had shot its physical form. This had to be the Stalker's attempt to maintain the connection with its energy source, Dean.

Sam saw the tension in Dean's body and face begin to ease up a bit. He tried pushing his hands through the substance. If he could just pull it off his brother. But his hands were effectively blocked well before he could burrow through the stuff.

Dean's eyes opened and he sluggishly moved his head until he found Sam. "Why, Sammy?"

The words were an accusation, simple yet harsh. Sam's hands clenched convulsively at the substance covering his brother, trying to reach him in more ways than one. _No, Dean, no, its not like that!_

It was useless. He was making no progress, the filmy stuff showed no signs of weakening its hold.

Think, he had to think! This assault had started the moment he began reading the prayer. Obviously, the Stalker didn't want him to finish that prayer, so that's what he had to do.

His heart heavy with the realization of the possible backlash against his brother, Sam snatched the book from the floor where he had dropped it and read the liturgy from the beginning. He didn't stop when Dean convulsed wildly. He fought his nearly overpowering urge to protect his brother at all costs when Dean began to whimper piteously. Instead, he tuned out the sight and sound of suffering and concentrated on the book, the words, the prayer, the ritual.

As soon as he uttered the last word, there was a whistling snap that sounded like the crack of a whip. The glittering, translucent sheet around Dean flashed in and out of existence twice before disappearing for good.

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It was over. The ritual was complete. The link between Dean and the Stalker had been broken in a very physical way that had been unexpected, unprepared for, and devastating.

And Dean, well... Dean was pissed. He was as pissed as a seven year old Dean ever got which was very different from how pissed an adult Dean got. A pissed adult Dean meant flying fists and flying curses, slamming doors, and squealing tires. A pissed child Dean meant the silent treatment and pouting lips, hurt-filled glares, and a much larger than usual personal space bubble which became an isolation chamber.

Sam preferred pissed adult Dean, because adult Dean burned hot and fast with no grudges held, especially not against Sam. On the other hand, pissed child Dean had been sitting in the corner jammed up against the bed with his knees pulled possessively into his torso for the last half hour with no end in sight.

It had taken Sam all of one heartbeat to reach Dean's side once he had finished reading the prayer. Dean had blinked blearily up at him while sucking in huge lungfuls of air. But when he'd grabbed hold of Dean's hand, needing to feel that Dean was all right, and hoping to offer some consolation, Dean had flinched violently away from him.

"Easy, easy, it's over now." Sam had crooned while reaching out again, slower this time, to touch Dean reassuringly.

His attempt had been met with a jerk of the head and a low groan that Sam had interpreted as 'If you touch me, I'm gonna lose it.'

Dean had then pushed himself up onto hands and knees and crawled, apparently too wobbly still to walk, over to the corner where he now resided.

Although it was killing him, Sam had decided to give Dean his space and some time to come to terms with what had happened. He had studied Dean from a healthy distance and had ascertained that Dean was shaky, but otherwise uninjured, at least physically. _Yeah, he's fine. He's just a traumatized kid!_

Sam had then roamed around the room, cleaning out the bowl and the mug in the bathroom sink, unplugging the hotplate and placing it on the dresser, washing the knife and stashing it under his pillow. He'd made no direct moves toward Dean, had ignored him while surreptitiously keeping him in his peripheral vision. He'd waited for Dean to relax his guard, to show some sign that he was ready for Sam to approach, but Dean's icy glare never wavered.

Half of him wanted to fall down on his knees and beg Dean's forgiveness. The other half felt that what he had done was unforgivable. He had asked for Dean's trust and received it, no questions asked. He had then turned around and, in a matter of mere moments, he'd betrayed that trust. It didn't matter that the betrayal had been unintentional. It didn't matter that he hadn't known the Stalker would fight to keep the connection, that he hadn't known Dean would be tortured in the process. It didn't matter that he was sorry. Sometimes 'sorry' wasn't good enough.

But it was getting late and he needed to take care of Dean, check him over more thoroughly for injuries. Yeah, there were those reasons for approaching Dean and then there were the real reasons. Reasons like Sam felt as though he was suffocating under the weight of Dean's silence. Hadn't taken a full breath since Dean had rejected him. Dean had also been unnaturally still for too long. Dean didn't do 'still', ever. Something was wrong.

Sam sat down cross legged on the floor and inched his way closer to Dean until he saw his brother cringe back into the wall behind him. There was still a good six feet separating them. He then hunched his shoulders down and lowered his head, making himself as small as possible.

"Mad at me, huh?" He whispered while looking up through a fringe of lashes and scruffy bangs.

Dean pressed his lips together and looked away.

"I don't blame you. That was a pretty terrible thing that happened to you and I didn't keep it from happening." Sam shifted to catch Dean's gaze.

The look he received was all indignation and disapproval.

Well, OK, so Dean wasn't talking, but his eyes were speaking volumes.

"You're right, I didn't just not stop it, I caused it. It wasn't on purpose though, Dean. I'd never hurt you on purpose." He infused his voice with conviction.

Dean was trembling. Sam realized he'd been trembling all along, but he'd been holding himself so ramrod stiff that Sam hadn't noticed until just now. That must have been why he'd been so still this entire time, he was trying to hide the tremors.

"Does it still hurt?" Sam's worry caused him to scoot closer and he got within three feet before Dean shied away.

"Please, Dean, talk to me. I'm all you've got, kiddo." Sam pleaded.

Sam didn't know why, but he didn't have any trouble seeing the child Dean was on the inside now as opposed to the man he was on the outside. It must be the facial expressions and body language that screamed 'little boy'.

Dean's eyes cut to the front door of the motel room and they flashed with...hope...longing.

That's when Sam got it, Dean was holding out for someone else. He was expecting someone else to come through that door and rescue him. Who was he waiting for?

"Oh God, Dean." Sam breathed before he could stop himself. "You're waiting for Dad aren't you?"

With an almost guilty jolt, Dean's head swiveled around until he was staring wide-eyed at Sam.

"He's not coming, Dean. I'm sorry. It's just you and me."

Oh, how he wished Dad was coming. He wished he could just call their Dad and tell him Dean needed him and he would come. But he'd done that before when Dean had been electrocuted and they thought he was dying and never even received a return phone call. Sam didn't want to test their Dad's love again and have him fail...again.

"Daddy'll come." Dean was the picture of defiance, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

Sam shook his head sorrowfully. "He won't. I wish he would, too."

There was a hollowness in his lungs, like the air he was breathing didn't have enough oxygen in it. If this was a competition between him and his Dad then he might as well go ahead and concede right now. Dean would sit here and wait until doomsday if he thought his Dad was on the way. The choice between his Dad - big, strong – who Dean had always idolized, and his baby brother who had just proven to be untrustworthy and unable to protect him, was a no brainer.

Unless...

"I need you, Dean." Sam said, voice rough with emotion.

And there it was, the little brother card, played right out in the open without an ounce of remorse.

The trembling increased prominently. Dean's throat worked, his chin quivered, and he took a deep hitching breath. Then, with one last look at the door, he abandoned his vigil in the corner and moved to sit shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, next to Sam.

"It's OK, Sammy." Dean's voice was tremulous as he settled his hand on Sam's leg.

Sam felt his jaw drop in awed disbelief. He'd underestimated his brother's loyalty.

"Thanks, Dean. You're an awesome big brother. I don't tell you that enough." Although he spoke quietly, Sam bumped his brother's shoulder playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

With his gaze fastened on the floor, Dean just nodded solemnly.

"Does it still hurt?" Sam tried again to get an answer to his previous question.

"Yeah, 'm sore." And with that, Dean leaned over to rest his head on Sam's shoulder.

As though he was afraid to break a spell, Sam slowly brought his hand up to rub along Dean's back while he asked, "Any sharp pains anywhere?"

He felt Dean move his head from side to side against his shoulder. Well, muscle soreness was an easy fix anyway.

"You tired, buddy?" Sam asked gently.

It had been a long day already, even though it was only early afternoon. They'd gotten an early start, Sam snorted softly to himself, remembering the pre-dawn struggle with his disoriented older brother.

"Yeah." Dean sighed.

"You can lie down in bed and rest. I'll get you something for that soreness." Giving his brother's back a last pat, he maneuvered reluctantly out from under Dean's head and went to the sink for a plastic cup of water and to the first aid kit for the Tylenol.

By the time he got back, Dean was sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees and chin cupped in his hands. The wistful pout on Dean's face twisted Sam's heart into a knot.

Instead of asking what was wrong, Sam handed Dean the cup of water and the Tylenol. "Take these."

After a moments hesitation, Dean reached out and took the pills and water, holding them uncertainly.

"Do you know how to take them?" Sam tried to remember how old he'd been when he graduated from liquid medicine to other forms.

A shake of the head from Dean had him coaching his brother on how to place the pills in the back of his throat and use the water to help swallow them down.

"OK, lie down."

Dean stretched out on his stomach, hands over his head clutching the pillow, facing the closed motel room door.

"Sammy, why isn't Daddy coming back? Did I do something wrong?"

Rage at their father swamped him, covering him like a familiar blanket. He walked around to the other side of the bed, where there was more room, and sat next to Dean, using the time it took to calm his inner turmoil before answering his brother.

"Of course you didn't do anything wrong, Dean. You can't possibly think that." But he knew with blinding clarity that his brother did think it was somehow his fault when their Dad left, each and every time.

"I try to be good, I really do. I do what he tells me to." Dean murmured as though he was trying to understand where he had failed.

All those times he had accused his brother of being the good little soldier and blindly following their Dad's orders came back to hit him squarely in the face, making him flinch at the thought.

Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair and when Dean didn't complain or shift away, he continued the soothing motion. "It's not you, Dean. You're a good son...the best. You're the best brother, too."

"I try." Dean whispered sleepily and burrowed deeper into the pillow.

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They were going to end this today. Sam wanted Dean to get his memories back and the only way to do that was to kill the Stalker, this time the right way. That meant finding the nest and burning it. Finding the nest posed a bit of a problem, however, it wasn't an insurmountable one, not by a long shot. The nest would be somewhere in that office building. If he had to tear the place apart floor by floor, he would do it.

He put the hard-covered book of Stalker lore on the table in front of him and ran his hand wearily over his face. He'd read the damn thing from cover to cover while Dean was sleeping, searching for a clue as to the best place to locate the Stalker's nest without much luck.

Dean had fallen asleep quickly and Sam was grateful. It had only been a couple of hours, but it would be time to wake him up shortly and get ready to go into the office building. _If only there was someplace to leave Dean where he would be safe while I go in to burn the nest._ That would be ideal.

As if he'd been struck by lightning, Sam reeled with sudden insight. This had been his Dad's dilemma the entire time he was hunting the thing that had killed his wife while his kids were young. Some of Sam's pent up anger at their father melted away, because Sam had to go up against the Stalker, but Dean was too young, mentally at least, to be there in harm's way. All those times their Dad had left them with Pastor Jim or 'Uncle' Bobby now seemed much more logical. Dad hadn't known about the gaping abandonment issues he was creating in his oldest child. Of course, if he'd paid any attention he would have been able to see it. Sam wasn't about to let his Dad completely off the hook, but some of his choices made a little more sense now.

There wasn't anywhere Sam could leave Dean though and even if he could, he wouldn't. They would go in together and he would just have to be vigilant enough to keep Dean out of danger.

Looking at his watch to confirm the time, Sam walked over to the bed where Dean was still fast asleep and sat down on the edge.

"Dean, it's time to wake up."

Dean didn't come awake like a well trained hunter, instantly alert and fully battle ready. His journey to awareness was gradual. At the sound of his name, his nose wrinkled briefly before smoothing again in relaxation. Sam tried again, this time shaking his shoulder. Dean rolled over closer to him and flung an arm out, encircling his waist. On the third try, he was rewarded with a glimpse of green through slitted eyes and a garbled, "Go back to sleep, Sammy." The fourth attempt turned out to be the lucky winner. Dean looked up at him and a smile stretched across his face starting at the corners of his mouth and spreading up to his eyes like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.

"Hey, Sammy."

"Hey, yourself. You look like you're feeling better." Sam returned the smile.

"Yup." Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"You need to put on another shirt and some socks and your boots so we can go out." As he spoke, Sam pulled the requisite clothing out of Dean's bag and tossed it onto the bed.

They would be entering the building right as it was closing down for the night as they did before. Sam wasn't concerned about their attire anymore. Now it was all about the hunt and keeping Dean safe. He couldn't care less about how they were dressed.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked with mild curiosity while he obediently finished putting on his boots.

Unsure as to how much to tell his brother, Sam answered non-committally, "We're going downtown."

Dean nodded silently and Sam wondered how often he had been dragged around on obscure missions and errands with little explanation. How much did he know at this age about what his Dad did and why?

His own jacket on, he handed Dean his and stopped by the drawer where all the weapons were stashed to pull out the pistol and consecrated iron rounds. While making sure the pistol was loaded and ready, Sam looked up to see Dean watching with interest.

"We gonna go target practice, Sammy?"

Huh, so Dad had already started Dean's training.

"No, there's a nest we have to destroy." Sam answered with as much honesty as he could muster.

"What kind of nest? A bird's nest? A hornet's nest?" Dean's eyebrows went up in childish excitement.

The words sparked a vague feeling that he should remember something...something important. The niggling sensation wouldn't leave him be. There was a flashback to a recent event hovering just on the other side of his conscious perception.

_There's a hornet's nest or something up in the corner over there and I want to knock it down._

The service stairwell. Dean's playful banter. His own dismissive retort.

_Yeah, 'cause that sounds like a really good idea. Leave it alone, Dean._

Dean's hunter instincts had zeroed in on the vital key without him even realizing the importance of his find.

It couldn't be that easy, could it? Just waltz into that same service stairwell and burn the hornet's nest looking thing up in the top corner. Well, they were about to find out.

"Yeah Dean, it's kinda like a hornet's nest." Sam's accompanying grin contained all his hope for an easy conclusion to this hellish hunt. He was more than ready for Dean to take back the role of big brother. Dean was much better at it anyway.

They left the motel room shortly thereafter and Sam went around to the trunk of the Impala to get the modified butane torch, effective against Wendigos and, hopefully, Stalkers. Dean was just opening the back door, apparently about to take his accustomed place in the back seat.

"Dean, front seat, buddy. This isn't a taxi ride." Sam poked his brother in the ribs even as the reminder of Dean's young mind-set caused him to wince.

"Really?" Dean's delighted squeal would be one of the few things from this experience he remembered fondly in the future.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN

People were streaming out of the building by the time they arrived. It was just after 5 o'clock. No one spared them a second glace as they fought their way in against the tide of home bound masses.

Once inside the service stairwell Sam faced Dean with a steely and grim countenance. "You stay behind me and close at all times. Don't move away from me unless I tell you to. Got it?"

"Yes, I got it, Sammy." Dean moved closer as if to prove his willingness to accept Sam's leadership, just as he had always accepted their Dad's.

The stairwell was just as brightly lit as before, but seemed more ominous now with the knowledge of evil lurking above. They climbed the stairs cautiously, Sam in the point position, Dean walking directly behind clutching a fistful of the back of Sam's jacket in each hand.

Sam had the pistol nestled inside his front waistband for easy access and the butane torch gripped tightly in his right hand. This particular torch had been modified by Dean to project flames to a distance of three feet. With Sam's height and long arm reach, it should be more than enough to set the nest ablaze without having to knock it down first, giving them the advantage of a surprise attack.

They slowed as they mounted the last flight of stairs. Sam craned his neck to see the nest before they made the last turn, putting his left arm behind him to signal that Dean should stay put. He was expecting the Stalker to come screeching towards them at any second, defending its territory. Nothing moved. The nest stayed still and silent.

It did indeed look like nothing more that a overly large hornet's nest. Nondescript in color, bumpy and uneven on the surface, it was attached to the wall with something that managed to look both slimy and sticky.

Less than a dozen steps brought them as close as they needed to be. Sam pulled out his lighter and opened the gas value on the torch.

"Get ready to run back down the stairs if I tell you to." He whispered.

Dean released one handful of Sam's jacket in preparation.

With a whoosh the torch was lit and a nice long fan of flame was aimed unerringly at the Stalker's nest. The crackle and pop of burning...paper...wood...whatever the nest was made of, had never sounded so sweet. The paint on the cinder block walls nearest the nest blistered and blackened, but the fire didn't spread.

A thick black oil dripped out of the nest forming small pools of liquid on the stairs. Sam didn't think much of it until the puddles coalesced into one much larger puddle and began to take the shape of a person.

"Run, Dean, run!" Sam yelled as he redirected his aim from the nest to the rapidly forming Stalker in front of him.

Dean turned to run, eyes wide. He made it down several steps before he halted to face Sam again, unwilling to leave his brother behind.

Sam was backing slowly down the stairs with a now flaming Stalker advancing toward him. The Stalker let out an unearthly howl and lunged for Sam. Needing no further impetus, Dean grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him along as he surged down the remaining steps to the nearest landing. Turning together, the brothers stood and watched in fascinated horror as the Stalker faltered and the flames finally did their job. By the time the last of the sparks had died out the Stalker was nothing more than a pile of soot on the stairs.

When Sam next looked at Dean, his face was slack and his eyes were blank.

"Dean? You with me?" Sam's already racing heart stuttered with anxiety. He made a pass with his hand in front of Dean's eyes and saw light return along with the familiar barriers that he only now realized had been missing all day.

"Dude, I was seven." Dean's voice was soft and almost reverent.

"You remember it all then?"

After a short pause Dean replied, "Yeah, I think so." And then a frowning, "Sam, did you call me buddy?"

"What can I say, Dean? It just seemed to fit you." Sam answered lightly.

Putting one hand up to his head and one hand on the wall to steady himself, Dean closed his eyes.

"You OK? Do you need to sit down?"

"No, it's just a lot, you know...all at once." Dean swallowed before continuing. "One thing I don't get though. Why did Jack get his memories back if the Stalker wasn't dead?"

"I've been wondering about that too. I think it's because the Stalker could only have one connection at a time and between you and Jack it chose you."

"Hell yeah. That's the only good thing I have to say about the sonovabitch. It had good taste."

Sam was amazed to see the layers of defenses being erected right before his eyes. The transformation of seven year old Dean into twenty-six year old Dean within a matter of seconds.

"Dean, what was it like? Didn't you wonder why you looked like an adult when you only remembered being seven." Sam knew it was now or never to get an honest answer for this type of question.

"It was...strange, really fucking strange, don't get me wrong, but... I didn't worry about it too much. I mean...you were there...and..." Dean snapped his mouth shut as if afraid to say anything more.

The last brick in Dean's 'I'm tough as shit and I don't need anyone' wall was shoved into place and the sharing and caring was over, for Dean at least.

"Yeah, you're stuck with me, buddy. I'm not going anywhere, kiddo." Sam grinned.

The End.

**A/N2: Sam blames himself for a lot of what happens to Dean during this story, but I personally don't think any of it is his fault. He just tends to be hard on himself. Both boys do actually, it's a Winchester trait.**

**A/N3: I hope you liked it. This story ended up being longer than I originally envisioned, but I had such a good time writing it. I'm planing my next story as a prequel to this one to explain what happened in Tennessee that caused Sam to need a couple days to recuperate before they were ready to move on (See Chapter 1).**


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